Tattoo Your Soul
by Cyren
Summary: Amon's been taken prisoner of Solomon, along with a strange, precognitive girl. It's up to Robin and a ragtag band of witches to save them both. Sequel to LUCKY THIRTEEN
1. Save Face

**TATTOO YOUR SOUL**

_Empty._

_The woods were silent and empty as Kristo slipped in and out of the shadows. They felt still. Even crickets had finally started to come out of hiding, chirping away. The sounds of footsteps retreated from the forest behind Kristo's house. He tumbled from the darkness, snapping out of incorporeal form and back to reality, hunting about for those damned agents, soldiers of Solomon._

"_Kathain!" He shouted, his voice a sharp crack over the stillness of night._

_There came no answer from the girl. However, an entirely different reply was made, as the footsteps turned around, and soldiers drew close to him. Dry brush and twigs crinkled and snapped under heavy forms approaching. Kristo's eyes narrowed, waiting and studying as the men just walked up, unaware of the hardened warrior awaiting them. He picked out ten so far heading towards him, at the least, clad in olive green camo and battle gear. Kristo snorted at the thought of those terrible helmets and gas masks they wore and how they destroyed peripheral vision. No real challenge for a shadow walker, no matter how well armed these agents of Solomon were._

_The warrior pulled his katana from the dark of the abyss and stood ready. _

"_Throw down the sword," one of the soldiers called in Japanese, his words thick with a foreign accent, perhaps sprinkled with some Mediterranean influence. This man had obviously just established himself as a leader; Kristo noted it as the soldier barked the order again. "Put the sword down, on the ground."_

_Kristo smirked slyly. "Nah. Maybe not."_

"_I will not hesitate to open fire." As if to put a point on that, several clicks came from the group sidestepping around the swordsman. _

_The witch brought up his katana ignoring the dull and spreading ache of his shoulder along with the stream of warmth spreading down his arm; his grin spread, toothy and predatory. "I didn't think you would." Kristo reached out with his mind, feeling the tendrils of black night at his fingertips; despite the slight glow of the Orbo pinned to their chest and the bubbling in each vial. "So…" The witch ignored the reaction of the green liquid, tipping the blade of his sword down to point at the gun of the lead soldier. "You going to actually use that?"_

"_This is your last chance," the soldier sounded more like he was pleading instead of ordering as he should have been._

_Kristo shrugged. "I like those kinds of chances."_

_They opened fire, not hesitating. Kristo slipped back, spinning into the shadows, disappearing from sight as the black of night wrapped around him. The swordsman chuckled in a deep, ominous way, taunting the confused and swearing soldiers. The Orbo on their chests glowed bright, like little lamps in a dark sea, bobbing and swaying on the current as the soldiers turned, looking this way and that, trying to figure out how exactly Kristo had vanished entirely._

_The swordsman took delight in this, reaching out from the shadows behind one soldier, tapping him on the shoulder. "Boo."_

_Right as the entire group of Solomon agents turned suddenly, just as Kristo fell back into the abyss, letting his Craft take him. He faded into existence on the other side of the ring of soldiers just long enough to grab one, bring up his katana, and swiftly slit the throat with a crimson, arterial spray, more like ink in the dark, silencing any scream. The agent of Solomon was dead and Kristo gone before the body hit the ground in a crumpled heap._

"_The fuck?" One of the intruders swore._

_Kristo's impossibly wide grin grew at their confusion and terror. The shadow walker thrust his sword out from the abyss, between the body armor plates, and right into the gullet of another man. Kristo pulled the blade back, into the shadows with him, a splash of scarlet splattering on the ground before the corpse fell. _

_Two down. 7 to go. The odds were getting far better._

_Into reality again, Kristo stepped, this time, right behind the leader of these intruders and taking his tonto with him. The warrior grabbed his enemy from behind, holding the tonto up to the man's throat, forcing it over the armored vest and right to the soft flesh of the soldier's neck. The worst part, the very worst part, of striking up a battle with a witch was fighting a man who knew how to fight and knew your gear. _

"_Hello," the swordsman breathed it into the soldier's ear, taunting him. _

_The soldier stiffened, trying to draw his head back, away from the finely honed edge. "Are you going to kill me?"_

"_No."_

"_Then why are you doing this?" the soldier hissed._

_Kristo smirked again, his delight and enjoyment of this battle rising up within. His heart beat fast, welcoming the swift action, and the dark tingled, tickling at the shadow walker's Craft. Sweet battle. The urge to fight. This was the purest of life. There was no thought, no care, no worry. There was only the battle itself and the blinding motion._

"_I want some answers," Kristo demanding the word, pressing the blade in closer to the soldier's neck. "And you're going to give me some."_

"_No."_

_The warrior fell away from the solder for a moment. The shadows pooled and collected in front of the stranger. A gasp escaped the soldier's mouth, really more forced as Kristo appeared in front of him, for a millisecond, driving the tonto through the intruder's shoulder and into the tree behind him. Kristo whirled away, into the thin wisps of darkness to the woods around them, chortling to himself. _

"_Then, I want you to watch." Kristo spoke from the abyss, booming and echoing over the night song._

_The night had a song, a fierce, wild song. And everything in the world played a part. No calm and gentle song. No, in these woods the song became a daring concerto, fast paced and angry. The predators called out throaty, bass notes, while the prey sang in high, flighty soprano. Kristo, most certainly played a low, menacing bass at this moment, skulking back in the abyss and savoring every moment as the soldier unsuccessfully clawed at the hilt of the blade. _

_In a flurry of motion, Kristo dispatched the remained of the soldiers in one, fast, elegant rush. In a heartbeat, the swordsman was standing, wiping the blood from the blade quietly with a cloth. It was a small gesture, one grown from years of working with that particular sword. The swordsman felt nothing more the men who had died. No hatred. No disgust. No excitement at their death. It was just death, dealt in with a cool regard for the bravery these men held to dare attack a band of witches in their own home._

_A gag drew Kristo's attention back to the soldier he had left stuck to the tree. "Sonovabitch."_

_Kristo cocked his head to one side and ripped the tonto from the stranger's solder. The Solomon agent fell to the ground. He moved to run away, but the tip of Kristo's katana stuck at the base of the man's neck._

"_Who sent you?" the swordsman asked. _

_The soldier shook his head. "I'm not telling you anything."_

_Kristo pressed the tip a bit harder into the man. "I'm not asking you again."_

"_Solomon."_

_The swordsman nodded. "What did you come here for?"_

"_The girl. The Oracle." The soldier tried to be as still as possible with the deadly sword pressed against his throat. "They sent us for her."_

"_Where is she?" Kristo demanded it. The soldier didn't answer. "WHERE IS SHE?"_

"_Gone. She's gone." The man admitted it, closing his eyes tight, waiting for the swordsman to slam down on the blade, through his neck and arteries. "The other squad took her and the other."_

_Amon._

"_Where are they taking her?"_

_The soldier just laughed. "Wouldn't you like to know?"_

"_Don't tempt me to kill you," Kristo snarled. "Tell me where they're taking her."_

"_Couldn't tell you if wanted to," the intruder sang, as if joking with him._

"_I told you not to tempt me."_

_When Kristo didn't get the answer he wanted, the swordsman pressed down on the sword, venting his rage in a slow motion. Horror movies didn't lie about one thing. They always depicted that sickening, tortured grimace perfectly. Kristo didn't muse on it much as the blade slid through flesh and the scream molded into a hacking sort of gag. The swordsman stood there, looking down at the dying man as gurgles of blood pumped from the throat with his last, liquid breathes. Kristo was a man, a true warrior, with the balls to stand and watch his enemy suffer and die. And so many more would see their life snuffed out before this was over if they stood in Kristo's way to getting Kathain back, safe and sound._

_Then, Kristo was gone, and the woods were silent once again._

xxxx

Kristo's telling of the story, however, was much less colorful than reality.

When asked by Nagira and all those to recount the events of that night, the swordsman held to the same account that he had given to Bear and Raven. When Kristo went back to look, both Amon and Kathain were gone, taken by the agents of Solomon, dogs of the enemy. He left out a world of details.

At least, Nycole knew it. The empath didn't think anyone else knew the truth about that night. The telepath only took a small peak while checking the dressing on the gunshot wound. Her mental touch fluttered across Kristo's subconsciousness, just a pacing glance at the freshest thoughts and memories. Fortunately, the telepath didn't need to dive too deep. The memory of the entire event rested just below Kristo's surface thoughts as the warrior himself replayed the entire sequence, searching for any flaws or subtle mistakes that needed to be corrected before the next encounter with Solomon. The only thing Nycole had to worry about was the lingering throb in the shadow walker's arm, sending dull aches passing through her own shoulder. A disheartening side affect to empathy and telepathy.

Nycole hated what Kristo had done, but knew it was a necessary thing. Kristo was a warrior. Not just any warrior. He was one of THE warriors. His battle was a higher cause, but that didn't stop the empath's heart from panging at the thought of death. Yet another disheartening side affect.

The empath looked to Robin, sitting on the window ledge of the hidden apartment above Nagira's law office. Nycole couldn't tell if the younger girl fought the urge to cry, to just let the tears flow, or the urge to just burn everything to the ground, destroy all she saw. The fire starter looked balefully out, over the cityscape, as if trying to find Amon there, amidst the soaring skyscrapers of Tokyo. No, there would be no finding Amon in Tokyo, or even Japan for that matter. Nycole just didn't have the heart to tell the teenager. Another side affect to empathy.

It wasn't that Nycole was a wimp or coward. Far from it. Nycole acted bravely, out of instinct and faith. The telepath could stand up to anything, anything that hurt the people she cared about. Yet this was a double-edged sword, a catch-22. Nycole refused to hurt the people she cared about. Strangely, more and more, Nycole found herself growing close to Robin, protectively so. The teenage girl was like a little sister to the telepath. Nycole couldn't bring herself to feel the hurt and anguish that would roll off Robin when she found out that saving Amon would be a difficult task. Nycole would rather not be the messenger for that sad news.

"All patched up." The telepath finally taped the last bit shut and sat back in the couch. "Ready to go." Nycole hugged Kristo lightly, careful of his injured shoulder. "Thank you."

"For what?" He furrowed his eyebrows, unsure of what the empath spoke of.

Nycole smiled warmly. "For trying."

He gave a nod, understanding.

Nagira sighed from the corner. "Well, this is all good and touching, but what are you guys going to do about Solomon?"

Robin stepped off her perch on the ledge, dusting herself off. "We are going to get Amon and Kathain back." The girl straightened her dress, as if getting ready to go right now. "I refuse to just sit back while whatever happens to them just happens."

"Yeah, but you have no plan," the lawyer pointed out.

The teenager closed her eyes, thinking of Amon, picturing his face in infinite detail. "I won't leave them to Solomon."

"I'm not asking you to," Nagira said.

Nycole had to stifle a saddened giggle at the statement. She and Kathain had a joke from several years back, stemming from a serious contemplation of the female rhythms and resetting them based off of pheromones. Kathain had laughed and teased, crying out something about not licking another woman's armpit. Nycole snickered, saying, "I'm not asking you to." Somehow, the joke just continued.

The redhead had to swallow back tears and a lump in her throat. Kathain was a younger sister to her, perhaps her best friend. They'd been together through thick and thin, through this entire ordeal. They discovered the secret of the Thirteen together, and had to live with it, learn and cope together. They were inseparable. They were Merry and Pippen, always getting into trouble by their curiosity and fun loving nature. And Kathain had just been taken by Solomon.

"You don't even know where they're being taken," the lawyer argued.

Nycole went to say something, but Kristo piped up first. "Yes, we do." He slightly stretched his arm, testing the injured shoulder. "They had a Beretta M501. It's an Italian Army issued firearm, not really available outside of Europe. I tested a Beretta at one point; I know exactly what they sound like."

"Solomon sent a team directly from Rome?" Robin flinched mentally at the thought. "They've seriously been hunting all of you down."

Geoff nodded. "A lot of people have." He sighed, thinking about what had just fallen into the hands of Solomon, wondering what the organization planned to do with the precognitive. "Right now, they've only got Kathain. Hopefully, they know nothing about the Thirteen or anything else." The man ran his fingers through long, tangled, black hair. "So, for right now, we're not exactly up shit creek."

Kristo glanced to Robin, his military training coming out. "How many Solomon facilities are there in Italy, exactly?"

"A dozen or so, including the main buildings in Rome," the fire starter replied.

Brett found it harder and harder to control his own anger, his own rising, internal fire, a volcano building within. "Any way we could narrow the list down."

"Michael…."

Brett raised an eyebrow. "Huh?"

"Michael. He's a hacker," the girl breathed. "He could crack into Solomon's computer system and find them."

Nycole vaguely recalled the young hacker, Michael Lee, from what seemed like ages ago. Sakaki had introduced them, maybe once or twice. She couldn't quite recall. Michael had seemed like a good, honest person. He's probably help.

"Yeah, one problem with that," Sakaki pointed out.

Nycole frowned. "What's that?"

"We have to get into the STN-J."

xxxx

Ah, happy now? More details of that night are coming out, but what exactly has happened to Amon and Kathain? Where in the hell are they? And why in the hell do I love cliffhangers as much as I do?


	2. Abyss

**TATTOO YOUR SOUL**

_Cold._

_Tired._

_Exhausted._

_Gorggy._

_Drugged._

_They were moving. Where? He had no idea. A harsh droning buzzed in his ears, rumbling and thundering, pounding. An engine? An engine to what? Things were foggy, hazed at the very best. His head hurt, aching and spinning at the same time. _

_There came a time when everything dimmed and went black around him again._

_Reality faded away._

xxxx

"Kathain!"

Amon called the name as he awoke, jumping up with a start. The hunter had been locked in a dream that the precognitive and he had been in the woods, chased by soldiers of Solomon. No, not a dream. A nightmare. And it had been so very real. The chips of splinters and stray bits stung at the man, even after the nightmare dispelled. Amon could almost feel the woods closing in on him, the trees looming and growing near. Or was that the intruders of his dreams?

"Amon," her voice gently whispered from beside him, still low on the ground.

The former hunter relaxed in the murky dark. They were at the house; they had to be, sleeping on the futons on the floor. Amon must have forgotten climbing to bed on those mats, and must have accidentally chosen the spot next to Kathain again. Amon could breathe a sigh of relief and return to the blissful, lulling embrace of slumber. But, something was missing.

His head started to clear, as Amon listened keenly. The room was too dark, almost pitch, as if Kristo had amassed all the dark he could, opening the abyss over them.. The room was silent, too quiet for words, far more still than it had ever been in those nights that the former hunter dared sleep in the house. The only sound of breaths came from the man and the girl beside him. They were alone, all alone. No others. The only other sound was a barely audible, high-pitched whine, almost electrical.

"Kathain?" He looked in the direction her voice had come from, worried for her for a flashing instance.

She sounded tired, just as tired and out of it as he felt. "Hmmm…"

Amon reached for the girl, finding her warm form lying sprawled on the ground. Her skin felt peppered and sprinkled with gooseflesh, dimpled here and there. The girl had to be cold, but, with the sedatives, Kathain probably couldn't feel it yet. When they wore off, the precognitive would feel it better. The baby-doll t, arm warmers and oversized, industrial cargo pants that the girl had been wearing before the attack couldn't have been that warm. In truth, now that Amon thought of it, the cold snapped at him, too.

"Kathain, wake up." He gave the precognitive a gentle shake.

Kathain gave a slight whimper. "God, Amon, I've been awake for maybe an hour or two now. At least let me at least enjoy whatever the fuck they shot us full of."

It hadn't been a dream. The nightmare was real. They had been taken, taken by Solomon to God knew where, and for who knew what. And, yet, the invaders seem so hell bent on getting a hold of Kathain. Amon furrowed his eyebrows, wondering why they went right for the girl.

Then, the realization settled over the former hunter. Kathain was a supposed precognitive, to the point that even Karasuma believed in the girl and her gifts. Sakaki and the others trusted the girl's judgment. Kathain was an oracle. She could see into the distant mirror, scry the past and consort with the future in a heartbeat. The strange young lady spoke in the foreign tongues of time and destiny, finding infinity and eternity in even the most jaded and dead of places. This frail seemed creature, so tiny and sprite-like, held the ear of Fate, bending the universe to her will. Or, so, it seemed.

And Solomon had just gotten a hold of Kathain and, thusly, her Craft.

He shook it off, orienting himself. They had to get out, had to find something, anything that could help them escape. Amon rose, fighting the slight dizziness from the last of the tranquilizers as he moved. The hunter circled the room slowly, running his strong hands over the walls and everything. The cell couldn't have been much larger that 10x12'. It was completely bare and devoid of anything, even furniture. The pair had just been left to sleep off the rest of the drugs on the frigid, tile floor.

Amon nodded. It made sense. If he had been in charge of capturing a viable witch and keeping it, the man wouldn't give anything to the witch. Solomon knew this game, this dance, and they knew it well. They would not give anything that could become an advantage, even, as in this case, if the witch held but a passive Craft and the other captive was a seed. Solomon would take no chances. They learned on that terrible night of the Factory incident to never underestimate Amon.

Amon reached for his gas gun, but it was gone, taken from him. He would have been surprised to find it there, but the man had to try. He had to be utterly sure that they had taken all tools. On further inspection, the former hunter found that everything he had, save clothes, had been taken. No cell phone. No wallet. Even the holster. All of it. No pins, no pens, nothing.

Again, the hunter nodded. Nothing unusual to that.

He moved on with the inspection of the room. His fingertips found a strange, new, slick surface, cold from the air. A two-way mirror. Someone had been planning to watch them from the other side, study them. Who knew what Solomon wanted to find in this odd pair.

"What's the point?" Kathain sighed.

Amon furrowed his eyebrows as his fingernails caught on a thin crack in the wall and, then, another, obviously marking out a doorframe. "Figuring things out."

"There's no way out of here," the girl lamented.

The former hunter spun around to sound of her voice. "You're giving up?"

A heavy breath fell from Kathain's mouth spilling out with her own despair and gloom, speaking volumes in one, tired exhalation. "Yes." She paused for a moment, contemplating the consequences of her existence. "Amon, because of me, you are going to suffer. Very soon, now."

"Then, we need to keep searching for a way out." The man drew close, kneeling before the girl in the dark. "Kathain, you need to help me." She whimpered. "Kathain?"

Soft sounds came from her, similar to whimpers, but not quite. She was crying, soft and slightly. Amon wasn't entirely sure what to do. Robin, for everything that had happened, never cried out of sorrow. Once, maybe two, she let tears loose from a combination of grief and rage, but never sadness. And never, never, had it seemed that the teenage Craft user was coming unhinged like this. The man had never found it necessary to even attempt to comfort Robin, but this creature was entirely different. He reached out, wrapping long, muscular arms around Kathain. She fell into him, burying her head in the hunter's chest.

"Amon, I'm so sorry," Kathain apologized again to him.

The man didn't know why she felt the need to keep saying that. Something about her Craft and having seen Amon's future at her hands. Because of her, because of Kathain and her ability, Amon would be tortured, and Kathain had seen it. The girl knew it. It hurt her so to see an innocent, ANY innocent, suffer because of who and what she was.

Amon just remained there, his arms snaked around the girl, crouching still-ly and frozen as Kathain trembled in his hold. "Kathain…"

The girl seemed to settle. "I…. I don't…"

"I need you to focus." The man unsurely stroked her hair, smoothing the curls down. "I need you to look ahead."

Kathain shook suddenly, sharply, an involuntary twitch. "You can't… you can't ask me to do that." Amon didn't answer; tears fell silently down her cheeks. "You can't make me to watch that again." The girl flew back, out of Amon's hold, slamming into the wall and smacking her head. "You can't."

"I need you to." Amon sounded determined, but Kathain could only hear him.

A hand fell upon her shoulder, trying to steel her, but offering no real comfort; the precognitive looked away, into the deep, dark void. "You don't know what you're asking me to do."

The hunter's hand slipped from her. "I do."

"I don't want to." From any other person, it would have sounded like whining, but, from Kathain, somehow, it sounded pained, flooded with hurt.

"I know you don't."

Amon didn't know what to say or how to put it. This was an unknown sentiment to him. Desperation? No, not quite. Sympathy? Possibly. Affection, definitely not. No, perhaps the best term for it was pity. Yes, pity that Kathain had been forced by the role of genetic dice to see such terrible, horrific things.

The former hunter had chased down and sent so many witches to a cruel fate at the Factory, he hadn't thought of how that capture felt until it happened to Karasuma and almost happened to Robin and Sakaki. Yet, even after that, and all the time he spent in hiding with Robin and that band of witches, Amon never contemplated what it felt like to be a witch. He had spent so many years hating witches, the hunter avoided sympathizing or personifying witches. So long as they remained abstract, devoid of any personalization, the man could continue loathing their kind.

Kathain put a face to witches, and a tale. Her suffering put a human quality to the witches Amon had hated and practically feared for so long. The seed wondered if he had awoken, what Amon himself would do or feel.

"But you have to look."

Kathain didn't answer; she just slid into his arms again, seeking the warmth of Amon's body and the comfort of his embrace. A soft murmured trespassed her lips, but the man could barely understand it.

"What?"

"'And in the fury of this darkest hour, I will be your light. A lifetime for this destiny, for I am Winter born,'" Kathain quoted, the song lilting just slightly.

Amon raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"

But Kathain was gone, slipping into her mind, into the distant mirror and into the future. Amon just held her, not knowing what to do exactly. Instead, he just knelt there, the tiny, birdlike girl curled up against his chest, her breathing rapidly slowly, growing fainter and shallower with each passing breath.

"Kathain…."

She fell away mentally, into the very fabric of time.

xxxx

So… at least Amon and Kathain are alive and well. We've established that. Where they are? Well… obviously a dark little room…. Who knows where…. Well… ok… I do. But, you're just going to have to wait and see what happens. Ta!


	3. Into the Night

**TATTOO YOUR SOUL**

Raven's Flat.

The building its self was an imposing fortress of solitude, tall and brick. It was the tallest edifice, plunked on a decent sized plot, as if dropped there by the hand of God, himself. Ravens hovered in the air around the STN-J headquarters, heralding the place's namesake with each caw and cry. They jumped up every time someone passed, as if calling out the death and decay that seemed to follow the STN. Every last detail of the building could send chills racing up and down your spine.

Karasuma gave a glance out the window as a whole flock of those black birds took to wing. They cawed and seemed to cackle as the birds flew past the empath. In one sense, they were creatures of death. However, Miho rather liked them. They dove and played just beyond the pane of glass, giving her something to see when the days were dull.

"Hugin and Mugin," she mused.

Michael raised an eyebrow, looking to the woman at her desk. "What?"

Karasuma sighed, sitting back in her chair, relaxing. The day had been long, drawn out by filling out endless forms. As the sunset, there remained a tall stack of more forms on her desk. Kosaka and their Solomon bosses seemed to have it out for Miho, keeping her trapped behind the desk to file endless forms. Punishment for keeping secrets, for practically aiding and abetting the witches of Nocturne.

"Hugin and Mugin," Miho repeated wistfully. "They were the ravens of Odin. Hugin, thought. Mugin, memory." Michael just curiously stared. "Everyday, Odin sent his ravens out to gather knowledge for him."

The hacker gave a shrug, looking back to his computer. "You heading home anytime soon?"

Karasuma gave a nod in the direction of her paperwork. "Doesn't look like anytime this century. I've been buried under all these papers for weeks now." The empath smiled slightly to herself. "You want to order something to eat?"

"Eh…" Michael gestured to the mound of junk food already piled on the computer console, obviously favoring the sugar-encrusted snacks to a real meal.

Miho just let out a small laugh before returning to filing paperwork. Ah, here was a fun section. Requisition forms. Everything the STN-J agency had requested or filed for compensation during the last year or so in a lovely stack perhaps three or four inches tall. Even down to the gas receipts for each of the STN's vehicles at that office. Karasuma, as team leader, should have gone through them once a week, but Kosaka very often took that responsibility off of her to allow the empath to work on more important matters. However, as a result of her failure to follow proper protocol, now, Kosaka had to be a stickler for rules to avoid more fire from Solomon.

She hummed a tune to herself as she began to file.

Here was one left over from when Amon had been the team leader. Karasuma couldn't believe the paperwork went back that far. Her fingers delicately traced over the edge of the paper as she pondered what had happened to the man.

"_I know you don't. But you have to look."_

_Sadness. Pity. Sorrow. _

_Amon protectively held Kathain close to him. She lay, dying in his arms, her breaths wasting away to nothingness._

Miho jumped.

"Amon."

xxxx

They stood, staring at the building from a distance. They had no other choice. The STN-J's computers and hacker were their only hope of finding Amon and Kathain alive and in one piece. They had to do it.

Sakaki turned to the others. "I'm going to go check and see what the word is."

"Don't go alone," Kristo ordered.

Nycole piped up, volunteering with a fretful eagerness. "I'll go."

"Smart." Brett rolled his eyes in mild chagrin at the telepath. "So we can loose the two of you in addition to Kathain and Amon? Smart." He reached over and patted the empath on the top of her head. "Special."

"Fuck off, Brett," the girl snarled. "I'm going."

The fire elemental conceded, knowing it was best to just let her get into trouble and deal with it later than argue with an embittered telepath. "Alright. Just be careful."

"You, too."

xxxx

"Amon's in trouble."

Michael glanced up. "Miss Karasuma?"

The empath had gone white as a sheet. She looked startled, like she'd seen a ghost, or a particularly bad scry. Michael's heart skipped a beat when he saw the look on Miho's pallid face. A look of shock and horror. As twilight settled and darkness fell upon the Raven's Flat, the woman's face carried the pale, blue of early evening, looking half-dead.

"Miss Karasuma?" the hacker asked again.

Miho snapped out of it suddenly. "I'm sorry."

"So am I," Kristo's voice came out of the shadows, along with the shadow walker, Brett, Geoff, Bear, and Raven.

Michael ducked behind the desk at the sight. Kristo strode defiantly, still bathed in the blood of the soldiers he had slaughtered just 24 hrs ago. His katana rested in his right hand comfortably, while the tonto was held in the left. Both gleamed and glimmered in the lights of Michael's computer console. Brett's fire rolled and danced up his arm from his hand, ready for battle. The runes glowed dimly beneath Raven's tanned skin. Geoff carried with him a wave of energy, while Bear kept his gifts in check, waiting to just unleash them. Robin followed behind, uncertainly.

"What are you doing here? You can't be seen here," Miho whispered.

Robin closed her emerald eyes. "Karasuma, we need your help."

"Solomon." Brett spat the word, as his fire burnt brighter, hotter. "They took Kathain and Amon. We need your computer to find them."

"Michael…" Karasuma breathed, looking to the hacker who still hid behind the desk. Michael had never been a fighter, and he was smart enough to know the odds were stacked against them. "Michael, can you find them?"

The hacker blinked. "Who are they?"

"It doesn't matter. Just find Amon," Robin instructed, turning away. "Please?"

Michael nodded. "Ok… I'll do it."

xxxx

"Hurry."

Sakaki stood outside of the graveyard gates, peering through the wrought iron at the rows and rows of white columns, each inscribed with a name in elegant, carved calligraphy. As a child, he'd come out to the cemetery, feeling welcomed by the space in the cities of Tokyo. Sometimes, it seemed like the graveyards were the only place one could go to find breathing room in the metropolis. He even had an imaginary friend there, a little girl his age. Now, with Nycole dancing about nervously behind him, still wary of another attack by Solomon, Haruto wanted nothing more than to climb on the motorcycle and speed back to Raven's Flat.

The man scrambled up the gate and into the quiet grounds. Nycole followed, landing down a bit harder than Sakaki. Together, they moved between the headstones, towards the center of the graveyard. Haruto allowed his mind to open, just as Nycole, the empath had taught him, letting in the distant and hushed whispers of the dead all around them. They crooned and sang in Sakaki's ears, growing louder the deeper into the cemetery the pair trespassed.

'_Haaaarrruuuuuuutttooooo…. Har…. Ru…. To. Ha! Did I scare you?'_

Sakaki smirked. He found the spirit he had been looking for. The voice was small and childish, teasing and joking. It was a young spirit, perhaps only ten or twelve years old in real life, but far older in death, and female. Haruto had yet to find a gravestone for the child who had been his playmate in his youth and guide once Nycole sorted everything out in his mind and saw the truth.

"Sanyu…. It's been a while," Sakaki greeted the playful spirit.

Nycole took a seat on the cushiony grass, watching everything unfold and listening in with her own telepathy.

'_Come to play a game?'_

Haruto shook his head, still passing his hand from headstone to headstone. "I can't."

'_Aw.'_ Even spirits could pout. When Sanyu spoke again, she sounded annoyed and frusterated that Sakaki wouldn't play with her. _'Then why are you here?'_

"Two of my friends are in trouble," the man informed the incorporeal child. "I wanted to know if you'd heard anything about them." The spirit didn't answer right away. "It has to do with the Thirteen and the Oracle."

'_Really?' _Sakaki had Sanyu's interest.

Sakaki nodded slowly. "Yup. The Oracle's been taken."

'_In that case, lemme see what I can do.'_

xxxx

They stood, peering over Michael's shoulder. They were worried, terrified, and Michael understood that. However, it didn't stop their leering from bugging the younger man to death. Finally, the hacker grew annoyed and swatted over his shoulder, trying to send them away as he worked, searching for any information on Amon and Kathain.

It was hard to crack into Solomon's computer system than it had been in the past. After the Factory incident, Solomon put tougher password protection and encryption on their network. It took Michael a while to even get a good lock on the main server and attempt to access it. This was what the hacker lived for, the pure thrill of it all. Michael loved nothing better than the challenge of a tough system to crack and the eventual access it granted the young man.

It didn't seem like too long before Sakaki and Nycole returned on his bike. Kristo shadow melded out of the STN and back in with the pair.

Geoff looked to Sakaki with hopeful eyes, but Haruto just shook his head. "Sanyu has no idea. No one in the area does. She said she'd keep her eyes and ears open, but no guarantees." Sakaki sat, flopping down in one of the desk chairs and putting his feet up as he had so many times before. "But it's made them loud, restless even."

"Figured as much," the bartender replied.

Robin tried not to think about what that could mean. If even spirits couldn't find Amon and Kathain, it meant they definitely were not in Japan and not within easy reach. Nycole couldn't feel them, nor could Kristo shadow meld directly to them, meaning nothing. Those could have been based off of the consciousness of the two who were missing. Robin could easily write that off and ignore it. No. If spirits could not locate the pair, that meant they were much further away.

She and Amon never fled the county for the simple fact that there was just too much red tape between them and any other country. Passports, visas, plane or boat tickets. It all added up to a paper trail directly back to the witch or the former hunter. If Kathain and Amon weren't in Japan, it would be far more difficult to free them. The teenage witch had been hoping against hope this whole time that they were still in Japan, in some Solomon base Robin hadn't known about.

She clenched her fist. Sweet fire flickered in her eyes, but, under a stern gaze from Brett, Robin extinguished it.

"Save it for Solomon," the fire elemental instructed.

Robin nodded.

"I've can't be certain," Michael finally said. "But it looks like two prisoners, witches both, were taken to Rome from the Tokyo facility in the last 48 hrs. There's a work order for the transport, but it doesn't list the witches."

Robin gave a quick nod. "That must be them. There's no one else it can be." She leaned close. "Michael, can you tell me exactly what facility they were taken to?"

"Sorry, Robin, but it doesn't list that. Solomon's been more careful since… well… you know," the hacker replied.

"It's alright," the girl closed her eyes. "You tried your best."

Nycole put her arm around Robin, just as she would Kathain on a bad day. The girl grew more and more attached to the fire starter with every day. Robin had become like a little sister, just as Kathain had. Nycole wouldn't let either of her sisters hurt.

"If we get close enough, I'll be able to feel them," the empath whispered.

"Then, to Rome, it is."

xxxx

Ah, travel plans…. And a few, fun things I hope you noticed.


	4. Blood Bound

**TATTOO YOUR SOUL**

_Dry your eyes and quietly bear this pain with pride_

_For heaven shall remember the silent and the brave_

Time is never a gentle mistress. No. It always cruel and harsh, to all those who are her subjects. And all things are her subjects. She eventually punishes all things, both living and not with the wear and weathering of age, and the eventual decay of everything.

Entropy, is a bitch, but time is a bigger one.

_And promise me they will never see, the fear within our eyes -my eyes are closed_

_We will give strength to those who still remain_

Amon's dark, brooding mind became Kathain's anchor. It had been ages since she purposely delved into the distant mirror like this. She needed a connection, sometime to bring her back to the real world. Amon's energy and presence wove strands of reality, sewn and stitched into a realm of illusion, of time and disparity. It grounded the precognitive to a distinctive, sharp, and clear time and location. The last time Kathain tiptoed behind her mind, into this place where time stood still, yet moved all at once, she almost didn't make it back alive.

That was what happens when you forget who you are and forget when you belong.

_So bury fear, for fate draws near_

_And hide the signs of pain_

There were theories on how Kathain did what she did, many theories. The girl often entertained them, contemplating what they said and how her own gifts behaved. So far, no scientist quite seemed to get things exactly right. But, then again, how could one explain Kristo's shadow walking, Brett's fire manipulation, or Geoff's energy play?

There was no simple, cut and dry explanation.

_With noble acts, the bravest souls_

_Endure the heart's remains_

Years after learning of her Craft, and, still, Kathain herself could not explain it.

No, instead, she allowed time to flow around her, to wash over her body and mind as many waves. Each passing wave brought new fears, new pains, and new events. Time was a sea, bearing down and beating upon the girl as the tide came in. Kathain couldn't tell if she actually left the real world, or if this was just a mental projection in her mind, a representation of an abstract so complex, her mind

There was a difference between watching time progress and feeling it actually move.

Kathain, unlike most humans, felt time.

_Discard regret, that in this debt_

_A better world is made_

The girl watched as time swirled and swayed around her, a gentle breeze of a rushing wind. It was not exactly like watching waves. No, it was more like standing in the middle of the ocean, with your eyes closed, constantly battered by rising and falling crests of water, dangerous and menacing.

_That children of a newer day might remember_

_And avoid our fate_

A wave rose up, pouring over her.

Kathain flinched as a bomb exploded directly in her face. A car bomb, to be precise, left in an older model car, bursting out with a rain of scalding fire from an Oldsmobile parked in the middle of a bustling street center. Once the conflagration subsided and Kathain looked down, her skin seemed to bubble up and peel, slipping off her bones with a melted, disgusting ooze.

The vision fell away.

_(I've waited all day in the pouring rain, but nobody came, no, nobody came)_

It was like that all the time. Some passing glimpse of evil, and, then, void for a moment, a brief respite and calm in the wake of a terrible storm.

_And in the fury of this darkest hour_

_We will be your light_

_You've asked me for my sacrifice_

_And I am Winter born_

Amon.

She had to stop and concentrate, pour all her energy into the task at hand. Her and Amon. Kathain cleared her mind, drawing up a mental image of the man. At first, it was fuzzy, and lacked any detail. Then, the image cleared, coming into focus, revealing the infinite amount of nuances to the former hunter's features, right down to the unusual scruff at his cheek and jaw bones from a few days worth of five o'clock shadow.

_Without denying, a faith is come_

_That I have never known_

_I hear the angels call my name_

_And I am Winter born_

There.

Kathain grabbed hold of a few, far flung scraps of sight and memory, sorting out her own, shattered consciousness among that sea of time and existence. They cobbled together, amassing and mixing into one, homogenous form.

It was Amon, bloodied.

He was looking up to her, is eyes filled with a sorrow, but a knowing. Amon's face held a sad acceptance of what was happening to him, of the torture inflicted.

"Kathain…."

_Hold your head up high-for there is no greater love_

_Think of the faces of the people you defend -you defend_

The former hunted slumped, as if incapable of holding his own body upright. He looked- and felt- so utterly weak and broken. They had taken a strong, courageous soul, and battered it down, like so many waves crashing on the beach, tearing the sand away with each cycle. He seemed pale, with dark rings around his eyes.

"Let them kill me."

_And promise me, they will never see the tears within our eyes -my eyes are closed_

_Although we are men, with mortal sins, angels never cry_

Kathain wanted to look away, to return to the real world, but she could not. It was too late. The girl became trapped there, in her future form. She had to stand there and watch, struggling to reach out and touch the man, but bound against it. Kathain sobbed, calling out to him, but her tears swallowed up each and every cry. The words muddled together in one, incoherent stream.

_And in the fury of this darkest hour_

_I will be your light_

_A lifetime for this destiny_

_For I am Winter born_

Oh, how it hurt. Kathain's consciousness slid away and into Amon. She felt his pains. The broken, perhaps even shattered ribs. Every inhalation became exquisite agony, burning and searing. The girl felt like crying out, but Amon's mind refused to allow her. Her screams were silenced by his own will. The man would not submit; he would never, could never show weakness.

Especially not in front of Kathain.

_And in this moment,.I will not run_

_It is my place to stand_

_We few shall carry hope_

_Within our bloodied hands- bloodied hands_

No, Amon had to be strong. For her. For Kathain.

He knew what they would do, the things they would ask the girl to use her gifts for. She wasn't as powerful, physically, as Robin, but Kathain's gifts held their unique power and potential. Solomon would use that to their advantage. They were asking her to give in to them, holding Amon over her head. The man knew he could not let her sight fall into Solomon's hands.

_And in our Dying, we're more alive-than we have ever been_

_I've lived for these few seconds_

_For I am Winter born_

Amon gritted his teeth; Kathain's own jaw hurt from his clenching.

"Kathain… listen to me."

The girl before him, afraid, with blood dripping down her wrists and hands, was Kathain. She saw herself through Amon's eyes. She was afraid, white as a sheet, and shaking. The girl writhed and bucked wildly, but settled under his voice.

Tears streamed down her face, sparkling under the lights. "Amon…"

_And in the fury of this darkest hour_

_We will be the light_

_You've asked me for my sacrifice_

_And I am Winter born_

"Kathain, listen."

He coughed, a hacking, debilitating cough. And, to her sheer horror, it was liquid. Copper splashed at the back of his throat, and, thus, Kathain's. Fortunately, Amon spat the blood out with one, good cough. It splattered on the floor with a terrible, sopping noise. Somehow, he seemed surprised that he hadn't yet drowned in his own blood.

Kathain ached at Amon's own thought.

_Without denying, a faith in man_

_That I have never known_

_I hear the angels call my name_

_And I am Winter born_

His gray eyes looked up to her. "I want you to promise me something."

Kathain froze in the hands of their captors, staring with terrified, wide eyes. "Anything, Amon." The girl blinked. "Anything you want."

_Within this moment now_

_I am for you, though better men have failed_

_I will give my life for love_

_For I am Winter born_

"Don't you dare give in to them. Not ever."

_And in my dying_

_I'm more alive, than I have ever been_

_I will make this sacrifice_

_For I am Winter born_

There came a sharp crack of gunshots.

Kathain screamed, and fell away again. The moment was lost, and she drifted back among the ebb and flow of time.

Hope was lost with her.

xxxx

"Amon…"

The hunter would have looked to the girl in his arms, had they not been in the blackest of darks ever. "Kathain…"

Relief flooded over the man. She had been gone so long, lost to who knew where. Amon had been forced to sit, alone, cradling her limp body for he couldn't count how many hours. Kathain had been so still, so deathly still. Her breaths were so quiet at one point, the hunter feared her dead.

"What did you see?" He sounded afraid of what truths the oracle held.

"Your death."

xxxx

Um… no text here. Sorry.

Song creds- "Winterborn" – Cruxshadows.


	5. Everfast

**TATTOO YOUR SOUL**

The islands of Japan had long since fallen away, sinking beneath the horizon with a slow and steady decline. The deep, cerulean blue of the sea rose over the land, or did the land slip under the waves? Brett couldn't quite tell anymore if he was a "glass is half empty" of "half full" man, as he stared at the swelling distance between the trawler and the island nation from the stern. He took comfort in knowing that the further away they were from Japan, the closer they crept to wherever Kathain and Amon were being kept.

Nagira had arranged the disgusting, fish-reeking, rusted out, trawler for the band of witches. Robin had never been more thankful for Amon's half brother and his less savory friends. The lawyer had once helped the captain save his own daughter from the STN-J; he was more than happy to help repay the favor to Nagira. A plane would have been better. More dangerous, but faster and better. Yet, the boat offered a way off of Japan that was difficult to trace, in addition to lacking the need for passports and a paper trail.

Still, it was so slow. Brett agonized as time crawled by. Every second, every minute they took in travel, was more time that Solomon could be doing who knew what to Kathain. At the moment, Brett didn't really care about Amon, that traitorous bastard. But Kathain…. She'd been like a sister to him for years, a loyal friend. And she was so weak, so fragile. She didn't have any active gits that could protect her. That was why Brett kept her so close; he protected her. Brett wouldn't allow anything to happen to the precognitive.

Robin studied the fire elemental as he stared out across the waters. A sadness and, yet, also, determination hung over every one of the witches, herself included. It was written in every one of their features, screamed with each and every rasp of Kristo's whetstone over his katana. Bear and Raven, normally jokesters, were unusually quiet. The band of witches was on edge, unhinged in some cases. They were silent, letting little words trespass the awkwardness.

No one really wanted to talk. And, even if they did, no one had anything to say, really.

What could someone say at a time like that? Hey, how do you like being a fugitive from Solomon? What sort of cruel tortures do you think they're putting Kathain and Amon through? How about them Yankees? The only things that could be said at the time were either terribly macabre and worrisome, or completely pointless and moot. It felt wrong to speak either way of everything that had occurred, almost taboo. And, so, they remained as quiet as the grave.

Somewhere, up in the riggings, Kristo shifted his weight, sending creaks through the lines. Brett gave a glance up to the swordsman, sitting in and among the sturdy ropes, studying his work on the blade.

The fire elemental had to wonder about the shadow walker. Ever since the night in the woods, Kristo had been quieter than usual, more contemplative. It took far more effort to get the warrior talking, about anything. The most Kristo dared speak were simple answers in regards to the wound while Nycole tended to it. It wasn't that the warrior was sad, or angry at himself for letting Solomon get a hold of Kathain. No, it seemed to be more of a case of cold, calculated planning.

Brett didn't want to know what Kristo plotted.

The elemental turned to an open patch on the deck. All of the others had gone back down below, and Kristo didn't seem to be paying any attention. Angrily, frustrated, the fire elemental threw himself into a strange sort of dance, practicing. He threw out fierce punches with small crests of energy flowing behind them, fueled by his annoyance and anger. It looked like improvised martial arts.

"Too slow," Kristo called from nowhere. Brett blinked, looking up. "Far too slow for going up against Solomon."

"I know…"

xxxx

Lights flashed into existence, blinding Kathain and Amon. The girl shrank back, scrambling into the wall and following it deep into a corner. Amon, however, sat calmly, allowing his eyes to adjust to the light after so long in the dark. He knew better than to waste energy fleeing an uncertainty without any information or preparation. Amon steeled himself, readying for whatever would come through the hinge-less door.

Kathain, however, sat, crouched in the corner, shivering and panting lightly, clearly terrified. She was a tiny, frightened prey animal. The precognitive looked more like a tiny, newly caged bird than an oracle.

Amon stood, slowly. "Kathain…."

"No." The precognitive shook her head. "This is wrong…."

The hunter furrowed his eyebrows curiously, but he never had the chance to ask. Instead, a voice boomed overhead, loud and authoritative. It spoke sternly and masculine, obviously a man who was used to being listened to and followed. The voice fed through speakers somewhere in the ceiling with the recessed lighting.

"Good morning, Miss Kathain Bowen. Mr. Amon."

The girl flinched at her name, but Amon just sank a bit lower, into a battle stance, his fists balled and ready at his sides. "Who are you?"

The voice didn't answer really. "I represent Solomon."

Amon had already grown used to the secretive sort of underlings who served the great, faceless machine known as Solomon. "What do you want?"

"If you'll pardon my rudeness, Mr. Amon, but I don't think you're in the position to be _asking _questions." The man behind the speakers sounded a bit pompous, probably a higher-up, Amon figured, maybe an Inquisitor. "Especially not since you betrayed Solomon and the STN-J." The voice even sounded as if the man were smiling smugly. "No. I think you had better start answering questions."

"Amon, do as they say," Kathain whimpered knowingly.

The former hunter turned to her, reaching and out snaking his arms around her, helping the girl up. "Kathain, what have you seen?"

"Just let them know what they want."

Kathain seemed so sad, as if pleading with Amon, begging him. Her eyes held such sorrow and acceptance. They welled up with tears, growing glossy and glasslike. The former hunter wondered why she gave in so easily. Perhaps it was the stress, but, also, maybe, it was purely from what Kathain had seen looking into their shared future and Amon's supposed death.

He had to submit. "Alright…"

"That's better." The voice spoke so complimentary, as if Amon were a bad dog who had just given in to a command. "Miss Kathain, we have some questions for you, specifically."

As Amon helped her up, the girl nodded. "I figured as much."

"Are you ready to answer in the most honest and truthful manner?" This was most certainly an Inquisitor.

Amon wished he had his gun, loaded with the witch killing bullets, but those had been taken long before the tranquilizers had worn off. He gave a look to Kathain, as a cool tear rolled down her face, sparkling unusually serenely. The girl roughly wiped away the droplet, shedding away her pale and weak look. She stared defiantly at the two way mirror, almost bitterly. Kathain seethed, as if fueled by ancient fire, but nodded curtly. The door to the tiny cell swung open, and, in a heartbeat, soldiers filled the room, grabbing at the girl.

"KATHAIN!" Amon reached for her.

Her slender, pale arms shot out, reaching and clawing at the air for the man who had come to protect her. In that moment, she looked so like Robin. Her hair, tussled and coppery. Her eyes, wide and sad. Reaching, holding out her hand to him, just as Robin had that day in the well. But, amidst the swarm of deep, olive green, Kathain was swallowed up. Amon leapt, surging forward against the Solomon lackeys who held him back, his hand finding Kathain's wrist and holding it for a moment.

"Amon!" her scream pierced the arm shrilly.

"Kathain!"

But she was gone.

And Amon was left, utterly alone.

The former hunter stood there for a moment, watching the door and the two-way mirror like a caged predator, waiting. Amon stood on edge, his muscles tensed and primed for action. However, none came. Just the awkward stillness of the room.

Well, that and the voice. "Now, Mr. Amon, in regards to your betrayal of Solomon?"

"What are you doing to do with her?" Amon demanded.

The stranger behind the mirror didn't answer really. "I don't think that you really need to be aware of that. I'm not obligated to disclose that information to you at this time." The voice continued on; papers scratched across one another under the sound of the speaking stranger as he was obviously looking over Amon's personnel file. "One year ago, you, along with a few partners in crime, attacked and destroyed the Japan Factory. You cost the lives of several Solomon personnel."

Amon hunkered down, sitting back down, resting his head on the cool wall. "Guilty as charged."

He had no reason to lie. Not anymore. They probably had proof that Amon had been a part of the attack on the Factory, along with Robin. No, lying could only cause more problems, especially for Kathain. Amon had no idea what was happening to the precognitive. The man had to answer, and answer honestly, for Kathain's sake.

"Who were your partners?"

There was a question Amon couldn't answer; instead, the former hunter replied in a sharply, snarky, tone, "I'm not obligated to disclose that information at this time."

"Must you really be so difficult, Amon?" a familiar voice chimed in with the other.

"Zaizen…."

xxxx

"Ready to tell us the truth?"

Kathain twisted and fidgeting under the bindings. She had been bound, tied with the sort of leather and wool cuffs found in a mental hospital. They even stank of the same antiseptic hanging over the air. The cuffs had been tightly buckled, securing her hands around the steel chair and behind her back before linking to the chair, holding her down.

The man before her, seated at the other side of the bare desk, asked the question again. "Are you ready, Miss Kathain?"

The girl's sad eyes moved up his white lab coat. The man seemed so nice looking, like a grandfather, complete with gray-white hair sprinkling his nearly bald head. Were the situation different, Kathain would have wanted to trust the man with the snowy hair and weathered, blue eyes. He somewhat reminded the precognitive of her own grandfather, long dead and buried. Solomon had made a wise choice, getting someone with such a seemingly friendly face to be her interrogator.

Kathain's gaze slipped to the machine on the table, with the vials resting on top, filled with the swirling green Orbo. The girl absently wished she could see the front, rip it apart, and play with the inquisition machine's inner most, secret workings. The engineer in her, or, at least, her abandoned hopes of being one, rose, intrigued by the strange device as the man changed the settings, it seemed.

"Kathain?"

The girl snapped to attention, to the man before her. "I'm ready."

"Good," the man in the lab coat opened a file and took out a pen, ready to make notes. "Let me just get some things right. Your name is Kathain Bowen. Aged, 20. Born, Red Bank, New Jersey, America. Correct."

Kathain stared balefully at the two-way mirror in that, white room. "You know, it's a little rude you know so much about me." She smirked to herself slyly. "Why don't you share something with me, then."

"Fine." The man conceded. "My name is Dr. Elliot Conner. I was born in a tiny, backwoods town in Pennsylvania, just a stone's throw from New Jersey, just to let you know." Kathain nodded as he went on. "I just barely graduated med school before heading into a focus of parapsychology and medical research. Apparently, my field."

Kathain lifted an eyebrow. "How'd you end up here after all that?"

"Solomon liked one of my papers, " Dr. Conner answered. "Apparently, it was a really good application for the job."

"Fair enough."

Conner looked directly upon her. "Now, are you ready to answer some of my questions?" Kathain didn't reply. "Let's talk about your gifts, shall we?"

The thought of Amon, beaten and battered flashed, unbidden, in the back of her mind. "No…"

"Come, now, Kathain. I told you the truth. Now, you tell me something," Conner offered.

Kathain could see it now. She knew what Solomon wanted. They wanted control of her. They wanted to know the future, to be able to change it or prepare for it. They wanted to use her abilities to their advantage. Solomon, the greedy sons of bitches, they would try to alter the future to their benefit, to the suffering of others. Millions would suffer and die from the things Kathain knew. Wars. Famine. Crime. Pestilence. And Solomon at the root of it all.

She saw it clearly for the first time.

The girl shook her head. "No. Never. I'll NEVER tell Solomon."

From nowhere, Kathain grew a defiant spine. She glared fiercely, proudly, staring down the man who dared confront her, dared breach the topic of her special gifts and talents. No. No one could ever know the things Kathain saw.

"Tell me."

Kathain blinked, thinking of Amon and the sacrifice he would have to make. But, this had to happen. Amon had given himself in her visions every time. Now, the girl understood why he did that.

"No," the precognitive growled.

The doctor sighed, closing the folder. "I'm sorry, Kathain, but you leave me no choice."

It didn't matter. Kathain had no choice to begin with.

xxxx

The sun rose in the East, over the ocean and where Japan had been.

Brett and the others stood on the deck of the rusted out trawler, watching intermittently as the sun rose behind them, and China, in front. They had waited for so long to see landfall, to be safe on the mainland and able to schedule faster transportation. Nagira had given them the number of another who would aid the travelers in their quest to reach Italy. Every moment the green mountains came closer was another moment closer to Kathain and Amon. The witches were ready to jump off the boat even before it was fully docked, ready for anything.

Kristo poked at the wound in his shoulder, testing the arm. Robin had seen the bullet when it had been taken from the man's shoulder. A witch-killing slug. By all rights, Kristo should have been dead, or, at the very least, incapacitated. The man should never have been able to go back after Kathain and Amon that night and search for them, let alone shadow play at all. It didn't make any sense. Robin made a quick mental note of it.

Nycole rubbed her arms in the chilly ocean breeze; Sakaki put his coat over her. "We'll be on land soon."

"I know…" the empath looked away, to the rolling blue waves.

"What is it?" Sakaki asked.

Nycole bit her lip. "I'm not sure. Something's wrong, but I don't know what…."

"Something about Kathain?" the man asked softly.

"I don't know..;.. Just something wrong."

xxxx

Oh, nos, mr. snail… what's going to happen…. God, this chapter was bloody awful.


	6. Business

**TATTOO YOUR SOUL**

China seemed so utterly different.

It had taken so long to actually reach China, days it seemed. They had gotten to the boat by riding the high speed trains to Kitakyushu, heading southwest through the Sea of China, towards Shanghai.

Kristo, Robin, and Sakaki had known it would be different, but the others were surprised. They had been expected something, more stereotypical. What they found was a bustling metropolis, filled with tourist destinations. Huge skyscrapers towered, reaching for the heavens themselves. Everywhere they turned, something new caught their eyes.

At least, Brett and Kristo didn't pay any attention. They kept moving. As soon as the boat had gotten close enough, the pair leapt from the deck and onto the old, wooden, creaking dock. They helped the others clamber off the tiny scow before turning and walking towards the city itself. Customs didn't exist in those bustling fishing ports, more or less trusting the fishermen to be honest about their cargo. In a place as busy as Shanghai, no one could keep track of such things anyway.

Kristo led the way, having been to Shanghai at least once or twice before, and knowing the city. Or, at least, as much of the city as the shadow walker cared to know. He led them on foot as far as they seemed able to walk down and south through the city, past the commercial buildings and towards the suburbs. There, Kristo allowed for a brief respite on a bench and sprawled on the sidewalk under a dying tree.

They seemed so sad and lost. Kristo had noted it when they first arrived in Japan. Where Kristo had thrived, knowing the language and the world they had entered, they hadn't been prepared for the culture shock. No one else spoke Japanese. And, now, no one else spoke Chinese. They couldn't read the signs or understand a word anyone said. In time, the others adapted as best they could. Now, everything had just thrust them into yet another alien world. And, instead of relying on themselves, they had to rely on some unknown person Nagira had given them the address of.

Nycole looked saddest at all, lost without Kathain's presence at her side. She seemed so meek, worried about her missing friend. Kristo hoped, for her sake, they got to Kathain quickly before Nycole just allowed herself to waste away.

"Let's keep moving."

xxxx

The world seemed to clear.

The girl blinked, trying to sort things out. The world was so disconnected, so distant. She felt lost and fading, Moving and swaying, perhaps? But, no. The universe remained as fixed and as constant as it had always been. The room was still white, and she was still human, alive.

"Kathain…."

She blinked again.

There was a dark form, hovering over her. No. Not over her. Things were so unclear, so muddled. She felt dizzy, and, yet, not. Maybe it was the earth spinning and not her head. Kathain almost wanted to laugh, musing on how the earth did spin. It was just the planet's natural movement, the girl rationalized, not her dazed mind.

"What's so funny?"

Amon!

Kathain gasped, surging upright and almost clocking the man in the head as she did so. Amon moved back just in time to avoid her skull colliding with his. But, the motion was too severe, too quick, too soon. Kathain slumped back, into the warmth of his arms.

How long had she been there?"

"Amon…." Kathain couldn't quite form the full question yet.

The hunter didn't seem to need any further prompting. "It's alright. They brought you back, unconscious, maybe a few hours ago." The girl made a tired, waving sort of gesture with her hand, flopping it on an unsteady wrist; Amon caught her hand and held it, squeezing lightly and reassuringly. "What did they do to you?"

He sounded angry, fuming, in fact. Kathain wasn't sure why. She couldn't remember. She couldn't recall anything in fact. The last thing the girl remembered was Dr. Conner, sounding most displeased with her and the girl's refusal to answer any of his questions. Then, there was bleariness and blurriness. At least, that's what Kathain recalled.

No, there was more. They injected her with something. Conner sat there, smugly. He was still asking her questions. They blurred together, the words becoming one, cohesive mass. And, somehow, Kathain resisted.

"How long was I gone?" the girl whispered. "Before that?"

Amon shrugged. "Perhaps two hours."

"What did they want from you?"

Again, the former hunter shrugged. "I'm not sure." The man looked to her with fretful, gray eyes. "What did you tell them, Kathain?"

"Nothing." Kathain prayed her memory had not failed her.

"Good…"

xxxx

Xi-Wang.

Kristo studied the name on the piece of paper. Dusk had settled again, and he could shadowmeld, within reason. The warrior felt better, eased by this. Once again, he could reach into the shadows and draw forth any of the weapons he needed from the abyss, including his own sword. Instead, the man didn't, knowing the shadows would be ready if he needed them.

Slowly, on tired, aching legs, they walked down the long hall of the apartment building, trying desperately to stay as far away from the disgusting, grayed and weathered walls as possible. Kristo led, holding the crap of paper with the address in his left hand, leaving his right had ready to push into the shadows and take up his katana, providing he could get to real dark. The hall was only dim, not dark.

They trudged on, until they got to a door on the left. Kristo gave a nod to it; this was the one. He gave a knock, a gentle rap.

The door swung inwards, into darkness, and a grizzled hand reached out, pulling the swordsman in. Immediately, Kristo drew the dark around him, massing it and slipping into the abyss of night. As the man became one with the shadows, melding into them, the hand went through his wrist as Kristo dematerialized.

"Who the hell are you?" a strange female snarled, in English peppered with a Chinese accent.

Kristo swished around the form, carried by the shadows. Brett snapped his fingers, sparking a flame over his hand and building it into a ball. As soon as the fire elemental stepped inside, the apartment became illuminated with that soft, orange glow of pure fire. The stranger, an elderly, Chinese woman, with snow white hair and dark, ebony eyes, glared, pouting and pursing her lips together in annoyance and anger.

"Who are you to just come here?" Again, the old woman barked.

Robin stepped forward, bowing her head slightly. "Forgive us. Nagira… he told us you could help us."

"Nagira?" The woman softened. "Then, what about this shadow mage? What of him?"

Kristo dropped from the darkness. "You grabbed me."

The old woman sniffed. "Your train is waiting."

xxxx

"I couldn't tell them, Amon. They drugged me."

They had been given food and drink, and even hauled out to use a restroom. The restroom, to Kathain, was most welcome. However, the two stared at the food unsurely. It looked so good, sitting there at the foot of the door, smelling utterly delicious. He raised an eyebrow at the girl.

"Do you think we should eat it?" Kathain asked.

Amon shrugged. He had already grown tired of this game, of waiting for Solomon to make it's move. Obviously, now, the game was making friends. They were bound and destined to try anything to get in Kathain's good graces.

"It's probably safe."

The girl giggled, unable to control herself with the stress. "Probably?"

"You're the seer."

Kathain flopped over, laughing to herself. She couldn't take it anymore. Amon was right. She was in this mess because of her precognition, and only that would get them out. But, something kept her from looking directly into their shared future. Perhaps death. Perhaps her death. Definitely Amon's death. Kathain had seen it. It was certain. Written in stone, even, the marble of his own headstone.

The girl stopped, growing serious. She folded her knees up, resting her chin on them. "Amon, what do you think they're going to do to us?"

He shook his head. "They want your gifts intake. They'll do anything for that."

"And you….?" Kathain dared ask the question.

Amon hadn't thought about that. In truth, the man wasn't worried about himself. The hunter had been ready for death every moment of his life. Well, ready wasn't the word. Prepared and accepting were really the terms for what Amon felt in regards to death. But Kathain? She seemed so depressed and sullen at the thought. Dying, with her there, was not an option, no matter what her sight said. If Amon had anything to do with it, he- and Kathain- would die free, years from then.

"Try not to think of it."

xxxx

The rocking of the train cars lulled the witches to rest, to sleep, unaware of what lay ahead of them. They shared a box, crammed together, resting heads on shoulders as pillows. Kristo prowled about the dark halls, moving up and down, patrolling as he had the house. He barely slept. The others took shifts, keeping an even closer eye on the boxes and every passerby.

On a night train, however, there were few. Especially on such a long trek on those bullet trains. Robin had dreaded the thoughts of being cramped into yet another train, but suffered on, for Amon.

When his watch beeped, Brett jumped awake, but he could barely lift his eyelids to stay so. The young man had spent the entire day before awake, watching the sea slip beneath the trawler. And the days before saw sleepless nights as the fire elemental worried about their lost friend. In truth, the only reason why the others slept so soundly was purely from exhaust and nothing else. Their bodies gave out not by choice to rest, but by necessity.

That, and Brett couldn't quite figure out how to detangle himself. Nycole sat on one side of him, so closely, her head rested on Sakaki's shoulder. Bear had set his feet upon the arm rest to Brett's left. Moving even the slightest chanced waking up both the girls, something he'd rather not have done. They needed their rest for whatever fight lay ahead of them, in Italy.

Geoff waved a hand at Brett, gesturing for him to go back to sleep. "I'll go. You need to rest."

Brett didn't argue. Instead, he rested his head back against the seat to return to his slumber. Geoff meanwhile, slipped from between Robin and Bear and out of the box just as Raven returned from his rounds for sleep.

Geoff yawned, heading to the dining car to catch a quick cup of coffee if they were still serving before taking his watch. The lights were so blindly bright from the dimness to the car. Geoff glanced at the red L.E.D. scrolling marquis at the end of the car, waiting for the time to come up in numbers he could read. 4:36. Only five or six hours had passed since they left Shanghai.

The man shrugged. This was too slow, far too slow.

Geoff shoved his hands in his pockets, removing them only to give Kristo a quick wave before retreating for the dining car. The car was empty, save a man behind the counter, looking rather bored. Geoff did his best to order what he wanted, obviously incapable of saying the words in the appropriate language, before sitting down at the counter.

He trailed his fingers over the furmica, spelling her name. "Be safe."

Something dug into the base of his neck. Something cold and metal. It pressed, as if digging around for the bones beneath Geoff's skin.

"The fuck?"

He didn't get a chance to ask anything. A gruff man called back, shouting something in Chinese that Geoff roughly translated to, "You're under arrest."

And, then, there were those letters, sticking out in that string of syllables.

STN-C.

xxxx

Poor Geoff… he just wanted a cup of coffee.


	7. Sanka

**TATTOO YOUR SOUL**

"So, you finally found us…"

Geoff savored the words, rolling them around on his tongue, but knowing these strange assailants from the STN-C couldn't understand him. He allowed the man to shout back, saying something indistinguishable, but still holding the pistol to the base of the bartender's neck, allowing cold steel to speak volumes that transcended language. The man understood the feel of a gun to his flesh, the cool grace of the metal, the hole of the barrel. He knew what those feelings meant. He knew it even better when the clearly aggravated STN-C operative cocked the gun, sending a small shiver down the pistol.

The bartender sighed, standing. "And I didn't get my coffee." The man who had been tending the dining car crouched low behind the counter; Geoff looking to him, a sort of wild twinkle in the foreigner's eye. "Make it to go."

He whirled around in a heartbeat, sending a wave of pure energy with the motion. The power of his Craft poured from Geoff, down and towards these men who dared attack. They were knocked back, into the ground and the walls. Geoff turned towards the man huddled behind the counter, who had now, very clearly, peed himself.

"Coffee. To. Go."

How horrible Americans are. When one cannot translate, nor figure out any better way to convey one's wishes, the words are suddenly slowed and spoken far louder. At any other time, Geoff knew Nycole would kick him in the butt for even trying that trick to get the waiter to understand him.

The agents rallied, taking up their arms.

Bullets of Orbo, glowing bright and green, flew through the air, screaming towards Geoff. The bartender raised a hand, stopping them with a lime splatter. He frowned at the spent shells that fell to the ground before him.

"You're going to have to do better than that."

Geoff shouldn't have said anything. The next bullet that soared to meet him, didn't stop. The American had to duck out of the way to avoid it, slowing to watch as it passed. This was the same, ugly, marked, brass-looking slug they'd pulled from Kristo's shoulder. A witch-killing bullet, Robin had told them. The hot metal imbedded itself in the cabinets behind the bartender with a snap of plastic shards and splinters.

The STN-C operatives smiled at the sudden insight that Geoff could not stop the witch-killers.

"Shit."

The witch hurled his body into the air, jerking wildly to one side. For a moment, the movement seemed awkward and ungraceful, but, then, Geoff reached out with his mind. The man grabbed at nothing, at the very air and wind its self, tucking, rolling and landing heavily behind the counter with the waiter. He landed just in time for a barrage of bullets to fly overhead, shattering glasses and sending down a rain of sparkling, bits of broken glass. The Chinese man threw up his arms in terror and trembled, but Geoff just dusted himself off and pointed towards the coffee pot and the Styrofoam cups as he crouched behind the counter.

"Coffee."

The man glanced behind him as more of the witch-killing bullets were volleyed overhead, and into the cabinets. He ducked, covering his head with his hands. Geoff just rolled his eyes, grabbing the coffee cup and handing it to the terrified man. Fearful of retribution from the demon, the witch, the waiter immediately turned to fill up a Styrofoam cup.

Geoff took his chance. This stranger didn't have to witness this, didn't have to know about the dark world lurking beneath reality and everything mundane. Hell, if the bartender could have chosen to remain ignorant and live out his life somewhere in the boondocks of Atlanta, he would have stayed there, quite content to life. However, there were some things in this world that would not allow Geoff that luxury. Geoff's blood, in truth, was one of them.

That, and Geoff NEEDED a cup of coffee.

Once the waiter's back was turned, Geoff rose, immediately cutting loose. Massive energy reserves were set free, exploding out with terrible force. Dams were broken down, shattered and smashed by will alone, and energy ran rampant.

Geoff set everything within him free.

There were screams.

And, then, there was silence.

xxxx

Robin awoke with a start.

Screaming. There was screaming. It pierced the night, calling out to her. There was terror, shrieking in higher, more horrific pitches than the actual, vocalizations. There was pain and torment.

The Craft user jumped up, immediately waking Bear and Raven. The two tried to go back to sleep, but Robin wouldn't let them. The girl starting shaking each and every one of them, shucking off their last hopes of restful slumber and relaxation with that fear in her emerald eyes. She ripped all of them out of their sleep, and into the dark reality of the bullet train car. The teenager ignored their arguments and mumbled protests as she reached out of the box and dragged Kristo back in.

"Something's happened."

Kristo tensed, the shadows looming behind him menacingly. "Where's Geoff?"

xxxx

Energy is a beautiful thing, even if you can't see it.

Energy is all around, produced by every living and non-living thing in the world. Everything is comprised of atoms, and each atom is comprised of subatomic particles. To those subatomic particles, is the electron, a small, swiftly moving, and negatively charged particle. The movement of electrons causes electricity and electromagnetic fields. Now, while that is all good to know and understand, seeing and feeling energy is an entirely different can of worms.

In Geoff's case, at that moment, the energy of his Craft was beautiful. Serene, yellow light cascaded down from him, towards the men who had attacked him. Geoff felt the world, felt every heartbeat, every breath. He felt the energy of billions of life forms, like little stars burning in the night sky. The man used the energy of his own star, pouring it out upon the agents.

They fell back, blinded by the light.

Geoff altered his focus. Their guns exploded with a sort of gaseous cloud, de-atomized by the witch who stood before them. The bullets and extra clips in the operative's coats were useless to them with those dust pistols.

And, then, Geoff's focus severed.

His energy was spent, and the man was drained.

The bartender fell to his knees. The world spun right around again, turning as if to right everything. His heart contracted and ached with sharp pangs, struggling to pump, but righting itself. Kathain had once told Geoff that was a side effect to the use of high magicks, that there had to be some sort of equivalent exchange. He believed the precognitive, but, in that instance, Geoff didn't want to believe.

The operatives took their chance.

One of them struck Geoff soundly on his temple, knocking the witch down. Sparks of excess energy, left over from such a massive venting, danced across the floor of the diner car. Geoff reached out with his mind, drawing that tiny bit of energy back towards him, pulling from the very electricity of the train and the high-speed rails themselves. The sparks shifted before returning to their sender,

"That…." Geoff spat, thankful not to see blood or teeth skittering across the floor. "Was a stupid, stupid idea."

xxxx

They ran.

Kristo led, drawing his sword from the shadows and the abyss, tossing his wakazashi up in the air so that Brent could take it up, before pulling his tonto from the darkness. The swordsman rushed on soft, barely audible footsteps, practiced and light. He crossed the train cars easily, with Brett and the others hot on his heels.

Brett carried the wakazashi surely. He had owned a katana and tonto set at one point, while his friend kept the wakazashi from the set. Nycole and Kathain had both seen the act of separating the set as a sin. However, in this case, Nycole was willing to make the exception. She ran just behind Brett, careful of the wakazashi he carried.

It was a good thing.

The lights in the hall dimmed and flickered, and, in a flash, a wave of energy surged down the car, sending the entire group flying back to the ground.

"Jesus…."

They quickly recovered, leaping to their feet and continuing on, bursting into the dining car. There, stood Geoff, a thin spot of blood falling from his nose from the exertion. Seven fallen men, all clad in similar uniforms to the STN-J, lay sprawled on the floor. Sakaki gasped, recognizing them from the sister agency to the STN-J. These, were hunters, fallen by Geoff.

The bartender stumbled towards them with a drained, staggered step. "I think… I need coffee."

Kristo caught his friend before Geoff fell. "You push too hard."

"I know…" Geoff sounded displeased.

Robin held her breath as she checked the STN-C agents for a pulse, and, thankfully found one on each of them. "They're still alive."

"We need to find a new form of transportation," the swordsman informed the others.

Geoff smiled weakly, clearly spent from the energy burst. "Sorry."

"You did good," Brett corrected. "I would have done the same thing." He sighed. "And we still have to get out of here." The fire elemental looked to Kristo. "If you would?"

The night swallowed up the travelers under Kristo's control, leaving behind one rather confused waiter and a steadily cooling cup of coffee sitting on the counter. Somewhere, in the ether, Geoff was mentally cursing himself for leaving the steaming brew behind. It would have been nice to savor a cup of Columbian nectar.

Who knew when they'd next get the chance?

xxxx

Hmm…. So the STN-C is now on the witches' trail. Sux0r.


	8. Cross of Faith

**TATTOO YOUR SOUL**

Somewhere in central China, strange newspaper articles were circulating.

A lone witness had reported unusual events on the bullet train. Investigators had come barging in, attacking a lone, foreign customer. And, somehow, angels protected the American, sending forth some sort of divine light to save him.

Angels are very real in this world, and so are the demons of fairy tales, but not like they are written. Angels exist in every sense of the word. They move and walk among normal humans, unaware of the unearthly presence beside them. But they are not divine creatures, messengers of God. No, no heralds and choirs are these. But no newspaper article can capture their grace, for angels are those who would give their lives for other human beings.

Both the interlopers and the foreigner disappeared shortly after.

xxxx

The game had ended.

Something had happened, changing the rules of engagement, especially from Solomon's side. Amon wondered that from the hours of bright, awful lighting. It was a psychological torture of sorts. Not letting the captives sleep. Not letting them have any idea of time. It was simple, really. Disorientate the pair, tire them out, and try to catch them off guard. Obviously drugging hadn't worked on Kathain, so other tactics were employed.

However, once the soldiers came storming back in, armed with guns and protective Orbo, Amon knew the situation had changed. Amon pushed the precognitive behind him, deeper into the corner of the room. The hunter didn't know what they had done the first time to Kathain; he wouldn't let them repeat it.

The soldiers rushed them, attacking suddenly and fiercely.

Kathain's heart leapt, just as it always did before something terrible happened. The precognitive's head ached, throbbing with each and every heartbeat. She shook her head, fighting back the energy welling up within her. There was a dragon within Kathain, an ancient beast living deep inside the girl's body, her heart, her soul, a creature of her energy and spirit. This beast was the dragon of her Craft, the source of her power. It lifted its head, intrigued by the soldiers who threatened the girl, but Kathain fought it, clawing at the beast of energy with all the strength she could muster.

The girl could not set it free.

Amon barked some sort of threat to the men, but Kathain could not hear it.

The girl clutched her head, struggling against the old dragon that was her gifts. A volcano grew within, burning. The energy was too strong, too great. She couldn't bear it as the soldiers approached, obviously with the intent of doing harm. The energy beckoned so sweetly to the girl, calling to her to use it, to just allow her gifts to happen.

Kathain refused.

She wasn't like that, nor would she ever be. The precognitive had enough to deal with just being what she was, just seeing what she did. Kathain would not take up the mantle of her position. The girl denied fate and denied the dark powers lurking inside.

"No…"

Amon struck out, punching furiously at the first to get close to him, knocking the green clad man back. He gritted his teeth like a wolf, fighting and attempting to purely bash his way through the seemingly endless sea of green. The soldiers fought back, but Amon was a whirlwind, a hurricane. At least, until the butt of a gun came down sharply on Amon's head, sending the former hunter back and into the corner with Kathain.

The dragon within unfurled its wings, catching the breeze and leaping from its perch; her Craft took flight.

She flinched at the sight of the gash, his black hair growing red and sticky from the blood, but Kathain ignored it. "Amon, hit me!" The man furrowed his eyebrows, but the soldiers drew closer. "Hit me!"

He didn't have time to argue. Instead, Amon reached out and slapped Kathain, as lightly and, yet, as harshly as he could. Her cheek stung and burnt, but her heart more so. Amon felt the energy roll off her body as the air grew sharp and static. Her eyes shifted from crisp, perfectly ocean blue, to black, dark as the night and shadows themselves. The air stank of o-zone. Her hair stood on end. Static snapped and popped behind her eyes.

Kathain let loose.

It was beautiful. Terrible and beautiful at the same time. Amon could not have imagined a more perfectly awful thing spewing from the girl. An anemone, glowing brightly, begging to behold, but excruciating to be held. Amon had no words to describe it, this pure power, so completely different and strange compared to the usual crafts of witches. He stared in amazement as the Kathain stiffened, allowing everything to pass through her and out, into the room.

Her wings unfolded.

Bolts of flashing, streaking lightning surged out from Kathain. Lightbulbs blew with a rain of glass shards. The electricity arced outward from the girl, touching each and every one of the soldiers and their pistols, zapping them with a spike of energy. All of the soldiers and Kathain sank to their knees.

Kathain recovered far more quickly than the soldiers as Amon hauled her up fiercely. His head still reeled from the blow delivered to his head.

"Zaizen! What the hell are you up to?"

No one answered,

"Amon…." Kathain sounded tired, so very tired.

The hunter gave her a small nudge, trying to keep her conscious. "Stay with me." He reached down and picked her up, cradling the girl against him. "Kathain…"

"Amon, help me…" the girl whispered.

The former hunter nodded.

In truth, as the Solomon agents regrouped, climbing to their feet and shaking off the last bits of electricity, Amon realized he had no idea how to help Kathain. In truth, he no longer had any idea how to help the girl, let alone have any clue what she was. Instead, Amon only knew he could hold her and try to keep her safe as the soldiers reached for her. They ripped her from Amon's grasp, but they didn't take her far. No, instead, in a flash, Amon found both himself and the burnt out Kathain bound to steel chairs, as the soldiers left them.

He didn't look up as Zaizen strolled into the room, not wanting to even spare a glance at the mass of burn scars along the right side of the man's face.

"Ugly, isn't it?" the head of Solomon seemed to know what Amon thought of, but the former hunter didn't even deign to acknowledge his former commander in chief. "You know, this is what your friend, Robin, left me with that night." Amon turned away, but Zaizen grabbed the captive man, turning Amon's face to look upon those mangled scars. "It's been a while, Amon."

"Not long enough."

Zaizen laughed. "Still stubborn to the end, eh Amon?" The scarred man gave Amon a slap on his shoulder, trying his best to feign friendliness. "Just like old times."

"Yeah."

Old times neglected to mention when Amon had been the lap dog of the STN-J and Solomon, running this way and that, doing terrible things in the name of "good." It failed to point out when Solomon attacked the STN-J, shooting on Amon and his colleagues, Robin included.

But Amon knew precisely how to strike back. "How's Touko?"

Kathain could almost taste the rage dripping off of the suited, scarred man. Zaizen twitched slighty for a moment, easily enraged at the utterance of that name. Swiftly, Zaizen swung his arm, backhanding Amon sharply and harshly. Kathain cringed at the sound and the sight of it, looking away. Amon grinned, licking the blood from his newly split lips.

Zaizen straightened himself, adjusting his tie. "She's better."

"What do you want?" Amon spoke slowly, menacingly.

His former employer and commander smiled devilishly. "It's not what I want from you, Amon." Zaizen turned slowly, facing Kathain; she squirmed uneasily, feeling his hungry eyes roaming. "It's what Solomon wants from HER." Zaizen circled her, a vulture stalking his prey. "We've been looking for a person like for you for a long time."

"Leave her out of this," Amon growled.

"What?" Zaizen turned suddenly. "What were you going to say? 'This is between you and me.'" The scarred man let out another haughty laugh. "This is between myself and Miss Kathain. She can speak for herself." He returned his attention to the girl. "Isn't it, Kathain?"

"Yes…." She murmured the word, dejected.

Zaizen nodded. "They told me you wouldn't cooperate when interrogated."

Kathain shrugged, still tugging and pulling at the metal cuffs around her wrists. "Not really."

"I had suspected so." Zaizen stalked about, stepping on almost delighted feet as he slipped behind Amon; Kathain watched with wide eyes. "I guess you just needed the right…." He paused, savoring the threat at hand, the way it made Kathain's heart flutter and her chest heave with terrified, panting breathes. "Incentive…."

"What are you getting at?" Amon asked the question.

Another blow was delivered to the former hunter's head, courtesy of Zaizen. "Now, it's not polite to interrupt. Kathain and I were just talking. So don't be so rude."

"Please…" she whimpered. "Don't hurt him."

Zaizen glared. "I know you've seen the Thirteen. I know you know what I'm talking about." Kathain gasped; this was her dream, the information they wanted to know that she could no give. "Tell me what I want to know, work with Solomon, and I'll let your friend, here go. No fuss. No muss. Call it a business arrangement."

"Don't tell him…."

Kathain blinked. Amon didn't know what Zaizen spoke of, but he knew better. If the Thirteen were anything to warrant Solomon's attention like that, Zaizen couldn't know. It had to be kept secret and safe, whatever it was. Kathain couldn't believe the former hunter would give his life for the Thirteen. And still, even the precognitive had no answers, not for herself or for Zaizen. Even she did not know everything.

"Tell me."

Kathain looked away. "I can't."

Zaizen struck Amon again, leaving a bright, pink mark that would probably bloom dark purple in time. "Tell me what I want to know."

"I can't tell you what I don't know…."

Now, Kathain cried, sobbing in terror. Her body trembled, shaking nervously, in sheer panic, sensing what was coming next, knowing what would happen to her, to Amon. Kathain wanted to close her eyes and open them, only to be back in bed, having just dreamt a terrible nightmare. The girl desperately wished that this world, this awful, white room, was but a glimmer of illusion and paranoid fabrication. Unfortunately, this was no lie, not even a bending of reality. No, this was real. Very real. Dangerously real, and with utterly, appallingly real consequences.

Zaizen grinned a toothy smile. "Well, then, if that's the case, then you just think about it. Try and see if some time jogs your memory." He strolled towards the door, sauntering with the poise and delight of a deadly, man-eating lion. "I'll be back."

The girl waited for a moment before she let the tears fall, rolling down her cheek.

"Kathain…"

It was Amon.

He spoke so softly, with an impeccable composure despite the sound blows dealt to him. Kathain looked up, meeting his sight with trepidation. Amon's gray eyes gazed upon her warmly, despite the minor pain that had already been inflicted to him at Kathain's fault.

She could scarsely speak. "…. Yes? Amon?"

"What do they want to know?"

Kathain shook her head. "I don't know."

"You know about the Thirteen, whatever that is," Amon accused, sternly but softly. "You know what they're looking for."

The precognitive nodded slowly. "Sorta." The girl turned her head away, suddenly gravely studying the pattern of tile joints on the floor. "I know about what they're looking for, but I don't know what they want."

Amon gave a small nod. "It's the others, isn't it?"

"Yes," Kathain muttered.

"Then, alright."

And, with that, Amon fell silent, letting the quiet roar between the two. And, somehow, it was alright. The former hunter seemed resigned to his lot in life, but accepting of it. And, strangely, Kathain's heart swelled with both sympathy and admiration at the same time. They sat and awaited their shared their fate, whatever suffering and torment it held.

Sometimes, waiting is the hardest thing to do.

xxxx

Schweet! 'nother chapter fueled by roommate rage.


	9. Bearing Alms

**TATTOO YOUR SOUL**

Kathain.

Kathain.

Kathain.

The entire group, with the exception of Robin and Sakaki, held one thought on the mind. They thought only of the girl with the odd gift to see the future and whatever cruel tortures Solomon had to be putting her through. None of the main group seemed to care about Amon. Well, except for Nycole. The empath pitied Amon.

Robin hated seeing things so. She hated feeling such violence and anger towards Amon, and his supposed betrayal. No, Amon hadn't liked the situation of pseudo-hostage keeping in Kristo's house. But Robin couldn't believe that Amon had betrayed them. Even as the girl continued stumbling along, somewhere in Central China, following Kristo, Brett and the others blindly, Robin disbelieved. To bring Solomon upon the witches would bring the soldiers right to Robin, to the Devil's Child. Amon would never do such a thing.

"How much further is it?" Bear's exhausted made him sound almost like whining.

They'd been walking for an hour or so after jumping from the train. The sun had risen, warming the day with a mellow, pink glow. Robin had welcomed the coming of the sun, while Kristo and the witches loathed it.

"A little bit more," Geoff replied.

Nycole tried to giggle, to lighten everyone's collective mood before the overall gloom suffocated her. "Y'know, like the Irish always say. 'Up the road and around the bend.' Of course, the bend could be, I don't know, twenty, thirty miles away."

She garnered a tiny laugh from Sakaki.

But it was hardly enough.

"Just a little further. There's should be a town up ahead. We can hop back on the bullet-train when night falls by following these tracks or by getting new tickets at the next station," Brett rationalized soundly.

Geoff shook his head. "No. More. Trains."

xxxx

They came back.

This time, they returned with tools, grizzly devices of torture and the secret, dark arts of inflicting pain and suffering. These tools where paint for these awful artists. For these people, ecstasy came in the form of sweet agony in their canvases. Their canvases were the captives these Solomon operatives sought information from. That day, it was Amon.

"Kathain, look away."

But she could not.

Kathain wished she could turn her eyes, shut them tight and try to ignore this world. This was all her fault, and Kathain had to be woman enough to watch. The precognitive had to, no matter how horrific it was.

In the end, the girl wished she'd listened to him.

xxxx

"Kathain…."

Sakaki raised an eyebrow to the girl beside him. They had given up on the bullet train and cut their losses, taking a plane. At that moment, they were soaring high above the world, drawing closer and closer to Moscow, where another plane awaited. The small, independent, private flight company was just another person who owed Nagira a favor- a big one. Sakaki had to thank Nagira's cunning and skills at arranging travel plans for the quick bodger.

The empath seemed so sad, so distant and solemn. Haruto wondered what the girl felt through her connection to Kathain. He hated to think about all the things Solomon could do to the precognitive and Amon.

"What is it?" Brett inquired from the seat across from them.

Nycole smirked. How like Brett. The fire elemental didn't have to ask her if something was wrong. He knew not to bother with making the effort to ask. Brett had learnt that the sullen expression on Nycole's face meant something had happened, and he only had to ask what it was.

The empath shifted her weight uneasily; Robin didn't like the stalling tactic Nycole used. "She's so sad."

"Is she being hurt?" Kristo was the only one who would dare ask the question.

Nycole shrugged. "Yes… and no." The girl rubbed her arms dolefully. "They're hurting her heart and soul, but not her body."

"And Amon?"

Nycole looked out the window. "You don't want to know."

xxxx

"You have to stop… He can't take any more…."

Kathain's heart cried out across the nations and the world. She couldn't bear it anymore. Amon, thankfully, tried to stifle cries and shout of agony, gritting his teeth, but even the muffled sounds of his suffering were too much. Amon was a mangled mass of bruises and gashes when the Solomon operatives finally let both captives loose and left them alone in that empty cell. Kathain's heart fell with the former hunter's limp body fell to the floor with a gentle thud and he lay deathly still.

"Amon…."

He didn't say anything.

Hesitantly, Kathain crawled across the floor towards the still man. He didn't move or flinch at all. The girl touched his shoulder tenderly, afraid to hurt him.

"Amon…."

His eyes cracked open, glazed over and glassy. "I'm here."

Gently, Kathain rolled Amon onto his back, holding the hunter close, just as close as he once held her. She knew this pain. She had felt it in those brief glances into the former hunter's future. Her hands knew where not to trespass, where the injuries were the worst and needed to be avoided.

"Keep talking…" Amon murmured the words, barely able to speak.

Kathain blinked. "What would you like me to say?"

"Anything."

The precognitive girl swallowed hard. "Alright." She thought for a moment, chewing on her lip and pondering what exactly to tell the man she held. "I'm going to tell you a story, Amon. A story millennia in the making."

He settled deeply into her embrace, his eyes sliding shut. Kathain paused, wondering is Amon had slipped into unconsciousness, but the man spoke. "Go on."

"Ok…"

She sat and thought of exactly how to word it.

xxxx

_There was once a great king. However, his throne was taken from him, stolen by an usurper. Now, that usurper sits upon the throne. _

_There was once a prince with a crown of glowing metal and flame. His crown was robbed from him by fate, by death, and by regret. He had failed his position and his people. He had allowed the stinging poison of betrayal to eat away at his house, his clan, his people. His crown was stolen because of suppose crimes against his kin. He had to eradicate what he saw as a bastardization of the blood._

_The Prince will become a general, a leader. He will be a prince among men, no longer needing his crown of metal. His glory shall come from within._

_The Queen tried to return her king, the true king, to power, to his rightful place. She called the very best, smartest, and strongest warriors and soldiers of her domain to her side, to her aid. The Prince answered her call to arms, as did the General and the Assassin. He followed, but not as closely as the others, keeping the Queen at arms length. _

_She orchestrated it all, the puppet master in the absence of her king._

_There came the rift, severing a once proud and united clan into two distinctive factions. For while an usurper sat on the throne, there was peace. Times were good. There was food, shelter, and prosperity for all who lived in the dominion. Under the usurper, there was an uneasy truce. Yet, there were those, however, who continued to support the true king, despite all this false crown did for the people. And the Prince had given his fealty to the true king._

_That is, until he himself began to question the motives for a return to power. _

_The Queen drew her warriors close around her, making secret moves and ploys left and right to ensure her king return to his crown. _

_The Prince watched in caution. Things were unusual at best. Swords and arms were kept close, unsheathed at all times and ready for battle. None of them wanted this fight, this war that suddenly became their cause. And, still, it was unavoidable. The Prince kept a wall of ice and flame about him at all times. _

_The Queen made her move._

_The return of the true king shattered the balance the balance between supporting factions, plunging the kingdom into chaos and disarray. The people argued and bickered, even right up to the dawn of war. _

_And, thus, light was cast upon the secret war._

xxxx

When Amon made a slight whimper, Kathain stopped.

She had been absentmindedly stroking his hair, smoothing the jet-black locks like raven's feathers, up until that moment. Then, even the girl's hand froze, mind-way through a pass. Kathain furrowed her eyebrows and tried to look into his eyes, moving just so slightly to avoid hurting him.

His eyes were closed, but Amon had not fallen unconscious. No. He slept. And he dreamt. Kathain sat back, resting her head against the wall, sighing in relief.

"Oh, Amon."

xxxx

When they finally strode down the cobbled stones of Rome, Japan and the jumping nightclub Nocturne seemed so very distant and far behind them, as though it had been a different life. The streets of Italy seemed new and refreshing, yet oddly daunting. It was as if this new and, yet, old country welcomed and threatened at the same time.

Robin felt eased, at home. Rome had been her life for so very long. It had been everything she had ever known to be home, before Japan and the STN-J, and even that had been a lie, a terrible lie. The witch had grown up in the shadow of the lumbering Colosseum and the Vatican. As a child, the nuns had taken her up to Foro Romano to play and picnic among the decrepit ruins of Roman glory and splendor. Her Art History professor had taken Robin to the Pantheon to pay homage to the famous painter, Raphael. She had even learnt to drive a Vespa darting and threading through busy traffic and the flocks of motorcycles.

Robin smiled and greeted the merchants peddling their wares on one of the smaller side streets. Her voice sounded faint and nostalgic. "Ciao." They waved back, unsure of what to say or do when such a strange, teenage girl approached so cordially and friendly. The girl paused at one. "Por favore…"

And, with that, Robin poured out a string of lovely, liquid sounding syllables. The merchant she had stopped at laughed and spoke back with her. Judging from the sounds and the emotional waves cascading off of him, Nycole assumed this was a good thing. When the merchant handed each of them a small packet of warm chestnuts. In the chilly, early evening air, they were most welcome, especially since fall seemed to snap a bit earlier there than in Tokyo.

"Grazie," Robin thanked the man.

Nycole repeated it between munching hungrily on the warmed nuts. The flight between Moscow and Rome had included a small stopover, but they hadn't had the time to eat. Nor had there been anything on the plane. The chestnuts were devoured in a heartbeat.

"What do we do now?" Nycole inquired.

Robin squeezed her fist around the bag. "We find Father Juliano."

xxxx

Ah… so the pieces are gathering together.


	10. Heart and Not

**TATTOO YOUR SOUL**

_Many were taken from the people, absconded with in the night. At the dawn of war, the warriors did not notice exactly how many were missing from their ranks, lost to wanderlust, to fear, to death, and to something else. _

_Warriors and knights alike from each side rose up. Under the banner of the black and red dragons, those who supported the true king rode to battle, supporting what they saw as truth and virtue. The warriors of the puppet king, the usurper, held up their red griffins, ready for anything this seemingly foolish rebellion could offer. Even the Prince, the General, and the Assassin took up arms, albeit with trepidation. _

_The Emissary saw this. _

_In truth, the Emissary saw everything._

_But she, herself, had been taken, robbed from this world by interlopers or having left by her own stubborn will. After the Emissary was lost, the true king wavered. Her loss became his undoing. _

_There, the Prince's rage stemmed. He saw the faults of the true king, he saw the hesitation in the king's eyes, uncertain and afraid of what to do exactly. The Emissary had knowledge, dangerous information about the defenses of the kingdom, and she had been lost to the enemy. Still, the true king did not act, and this angered the Prince._

_War was at hand, but they could not see past their own quarreling. _

xxxx

"Don't die…"

Although Amon's breathing had grown soft and almost faint, he still forced the words out. "I don't plan to."

"Good."

Kathain sighed. Yes, this was all well and good, but they still had to get out, get away. She had burnt all of her energy in that one electrical burst. It would take days for her to recharge enough to make another stand. That, and she needed the proper stimulus to vent so aggressively. Amon didn't look like he'd be giving her another good slap anytime soon to trigger another outburst.

Mentally, Kathain cursed herself for denying her gifts so badly and not learning to embrace and control them as the others did. The girl swore if they ever got out of there, she'd go right to Brett and beg for him to help her learn. She would not allow those powers go to waste ever again.

'

That is… if they ever got out of that white cell.

xxxx

"Much better."

Brett preferred motorcycles to cars anyway as they sped through the narrow and winding roads of Rome, following the black, Solomon issued sedan not to far ahead. The men had "borrowing" a few of the faster models that had been lined up along the park earlier that day, taking them in quick haste while Nycole left the lingering mental image of the bikes, still neatly aligned and shining in the sun.

Now that the sun had set, the bikes darted this way and that. Nycole sat with Sakaki, leaning so close that her chest graced across his back with every turn. Robin, however, sat back on Geoff's bike as they threaded through the streets.

"That's him," Robin whispered in the bartender's ear. "That has to be Juliano."

Geoff nodded, gunning the ignition slightly more and speeding up to catch up with Brett. The younger male took the hint and peeled off, speeding up, alongside the sedan and peering in. A stern looking fellow with graying hair and a black coat sat in the plush, leather backseat, staring into space.

Juliano.

'_He fits her memory.'_

Somewhere, in the back of the motorcycle gang, Nycole mentally sang in Brett's ears, confirming his suspicions. The fire elemental sped up, going faster and faster, ducking in front of the sedan and braking suddenly, severely and sharply. The motorcycle swung around with harsh squeal of tires on pavement as Brett forced the sedan to stop, awakening his Craft as he did.

The others slowed and stopped, surrounding the sedan.

"Juliano…" Robin breathed the word.

Brett shucked off his ebony helmet letting it fall to the ground beside the royal purple bike as white-hot flames licked up his arm. "Out of the car." When neither the clearly terrified driver, nor the calm and composed exorcist moved, Brett formed a snapping, popping fireball over his right hand, aiming it at the car. "Por favore."

Slowly, gracefully, Juliano climbed out of the car. "What do you want?"

"We want Kathain," Brett snarled, feeling the welcoming flames rising from his heart and soul and across his arm. "And we want her now."

"I don't know what you're babbling about," the priest and exorcist replied.

Nycole could taste the lie, and she immediately called the stranger on it. "BULLSHIT!"

"Father…"

It was Robin. Her meek voice quelled everyone's seething rage. The breeze carried the word gently, wafting it about the entire group of witches.

The man turned. "Robin."

She rushed to him, kneeling at the man's feet. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned." Her emerald eyes gazed up to the priest sadly, tears welling up. "I have committed many sins in the eyes of God." The girl looked away. "So many sins."

Juliano knelt before her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Your sins are forgiven if you wish them to be, my child." Brett allowed the flames of his Craft to settle and burn out, flickering out of existence as the elder priest went on. "You need only ask to be taken back into His grace."

"Father, please, you need to help us," Robin begged.

Juliano brushed back a stray lock of hair from her face, pushing it behind her ear. "Ask, and you shall receive, Robin."

"Where is Amon?"

Bear folded his arms across his chest. Even then, after everything they'd seen and been through, all because of that traitorous dog, Amon, Robin still begged and longed for him. And she seemed so sad, so tormented by loneliness without the gloomy, brooding man. She must have cared for him deeply, so very deeply to be blinded against his betrayal. Bear wondered if, as Amon dealt a killing blow before her very eyes, would Robin still love him so? Nycole just rolled her eyes.

Juliano leaned close to the girl, letting the word spill from his mouth directly into her ear. "Under the Baldacchino."

Robin nodded. "I understand. Thank you, Father."

He stood. At any other moment, Nycole would have expected Juliano to hug her, but the empath knew this man would never show such emotional weakness towards the girl. "Be careful."

A bullet whizzed past, pinging into the car.

"Get down!"

xxxx

They came back.

Kathain held Amon closer, tighter against her. "You can't do this to him." Her voice spoke volumes of ancient rage and panic as those green clad soldiers. "Not again."

"It's alright," the hunter conceded, even as fierce hands tore him from the girl.

They grabbed her fiercely.

"Amon…"

xxxx

"Juliano!"

The father pushed Robin down onto the cobblestone and out of the line of fire. The others ducked, climbing on bikes and getting ready to flee. Geoff scrambled to get on his bike and whirl around to get the Craft user as Robin stayed down, beside the sedan.

"Robin, I'm very sorry." There was tenderness to Juliano's words.

The girl blinked. "For what?"

"For Amon."

Geoff's hand reached down, hauling Robin up and back onto the motorcycle before speeding off. The bikes swarmed together, away from Juliano and the Solomon agents who had obviously been watching and tailing the group of witches. They were close; they had to be with Solomon sending out so many agents and operatives after the band.

Unless Solomon knew.

Brett swooped to the left, and the followed. Geoff tried to banish the dark thoughts from his mind as they peeled around a corner, almost barreling into a large, dark truck. Several Solomon operatives in battle gear stood ready. Geoff stopped, slamming on the breaks and spinning the bike around.

"Wrong way," Brett growled as they rushed back in the opposite direction.

"RUN, ROBIN!"

Juliano!

Robin caught her breath as she watched down the road they had just come from. Time seemed to move slower, more fluidly, as if paused just for her. Juliano knelt at the feet of Zaizen, a gun pressed to the father's head as he shouted to the girl. Robin blinked, trying to remove the image from her sight.

"Zaizen…."

Robin hadn't wanted to say the word, but needed to say it to make the situation real, to recognize the man down the road as he pulled the trigger. A bullet smashed into the taillight of Sakaki's bike ahead of them, with a glittering, red burst, dispelling the notion.

Nycole screamed. "God damned Solomon!"

They sped down the streets faster, harder, knowing they were being following now. Brett glanced over his shoulder, seeing the van that following, speeding up behind them. They couldn't take this risk. Not anymore. Sirens wailed as lights flashed and blinked over the van and others as Italian police joined the chase. This chase had to end, but Kristo wouldn't be able to muster enough darkness to swallow up the entire group and the motorcycles.

Brett shook his head. "Split up!"

The group diverged, knowing they could find one another again, in time, and with Nycole's help. Into the night, they split, snaking down different alleys, away from Solomon, all except for Brett. The fire elemental continue onward, as the van followed. A bullet pinged off the tailpipe of the motorcycle with a metallic clink.

"Sonovabitch."

Brett glanced around, hurling a fireball right at the front tires of the van. The tires burst, and the van teetered, spinning out of control and coming to an awkward halt.

"Stupid pricks."

Brett flew off, into the night.

xxxx

"Don't do this."

This time, Zaizen wasn't there, but he had sent lackeys who seemed to know exactly what they needed to do and how to do it. And they were good at it. Kathain felt tears stream down her cheeks, hot and burning oddly.

"Please…"

But it was too late.

xxxx

Mmm…. We're getting closer to conflictiness…..


	11. Mythosphere

**TATTOO YOUR SOUL**

"Amon…"

Her tears and sobs swallowed the words as Kathain struggled. She writhed and twisted in the hold of the soldiers of Solomon. The metal handcuffs that had been clapped on her wrists burnt as her arms moved against them, and eventually cut into her flesh with an awful, oozing feeling.

But they would not stop. They just kept hitting him, beating him to near death.

"Stop!"

xxxx

Sirens screamed out in the night as the police car followed closely, somehow staying on Sakaki's tail. Haruto was good as per driving, but these cops were just as good, managing to just barely keep pace. Together, they rocketed down the narrow streets and alleyways of Rome, darting this way and that. Nycole leaned close, holding tighter to Sakaki as drove harder and faster.

"Can't shake 'em."

Nycole flashed with anger. "They shot out your taillight!"

It was as if ruining a perfect motorcycle was enough to enflame the telepath. She turned, looking over her shoulder and throwing a hand towards the car. The police car slammed to a stop, and the cops poured out, looking about this way and that.

Sakaki laughed. "What did you do?"

"Made them realize that they needed to hunt for a contact lens right there. "

"Where are we going?" Haruto inquired as he kept driving.

Nycole reached out with her mind, hunting down one mind in particular. The millions of residents of the aging city and its suburbs twinkled and glittering in the ether, each light heralding a different life and memories. It took her a moment.

But she didn't find Robin at first.

xxxx

_Kathain!_

_She was there, in Rome, with Amon. They were being held, physically, by soldiers of Solomon, clad in green uniforms and wearing Orbo necklaces. The soldiers beat Amon viscously, all the while Kathain cried in terror and sadness. She hurt for Amon and the terrible things the soldiers did to the former hunter. _

"_Kathain…"_

_The precognitive started. "No…"_

"_Let them kill me," Amon sounded so serious and resigned to this lot, accepting his fate. _

_Kathain stopped, her blood freezing in her veins. "Amon… no… don't say that."_

_But Amon would not listen._

xxxx

"Nycole!"

Sakaki had to reach and grab the empath before she tumbled off the motorcycle. The former hunter struggled to keep control of the bike and hold Nycole at the same time as he stopped. The motorcycle purred at the street corner.

"Nycole…" he gave her a gentle shake.

The empath blinked, returning to reality and the man who held her. "I found her."

"Robin?"

Nycole shook her head. "Kathain. She's here." Sakaki nodded slowly, but the girl trembled. "No, you don't understand. She's so very sad. So sad." Nycole swallowed. "She's watching them kill Amon."

"Find Robin. She knows where Kathain is."

xxxx

"NO!"

Kathain poured the shout out from her heart. She could not allow this to happen. The precognitive had seen it, yes, but that did not mean she had to live it again. She wouldn't. No, the girl would not, could not allow this to happen to Amon.

"Kathain, listen to me."

"No," she growled, trying to ignore the all too familiar, sickeningly sticky sensation of blood trailing down her wrists from the places were the cuffs had cut and dug into her skin. "I won't listen to you."

He coughed, a hacking, liquid cough. A splatter of blood slapped onto the floor with a disgusting smacking noise. Her heart leapt, seeing the all too familiar signs of her vision coming true. But, this was not her vision. She had already changed it by speaking out. Amon didn't have to die. Kathain could stop this; she only needed alter the right elements to change the outcome.

"Amon…."

"Kathain…." He sounded sterner, despite the fact that Amon didn't even have the strength to hold himself up. His voice cracked like a whip from where the soldiers held his slumping body. "Listen."

"I refuse," the girl snarled.

The soldiers stopped, looking at Kathain with fear in their eyes.

"I won't let you do this to him." Determination rang in her voice. "I would rather die than to allow this to happen again."

"What are you saying?" a soldier inquired, as if voicing Amon's argument.

Still, the girl sighed. "I propose a deal."

Amon shook. He couldn't stop her, but Amon couldn't just all her to do this. The former hunter was too weak to argue for himself, but he could not allow Kathain to do this, to just give herself up. He wanted to cry out, but the conviction written on her face kept the hunter from arguing.

"His life… for mine."

xxxx

The Vatican loomed before the band of witches. It seemed so dark and foreboding in the night, the very opposite of the warm and welcoming pilgrimage site the brochures and travel books always spoke of. The basilica towered over them as the group just stood there in the grand piazza. The others seemed so lost before it, but Robin felt at hone in front of the menacing looking church.

"That's it?" Raven teased. "That's not so bad."

Kristo tore open a hole into the abyss and took them with him, into the shadows. Geoff never personally liked that, being taken into the void and nothingness that was Kristo's realm of power. It was unsettling to be hurled into a land of inky black and nothing else. Nycole welcomed it, being in a realm where the thoughts and emotions of others were smothered by the dark and shadows. Together, they drifted, guided by Kristo through the dark and into Saint Peter's basilica, into reality again.

Robin led the way, up to the baldacchino in the very center of the cruciform design of the basilica. It was a tall standing structure, like a massive arbor in the middle of the expanse of the cathedral. Thousands of carvings curled up the dark legs, reaching for the heavens. They were the Solomonic columns, or so they were called, marked by the seals of the ancient king.

Robin dropped to one knee, praying before the baldacchino.

"What are you doing?" Brett scratched his head.

Nycole nudged him sharply in the ribcage. "She's praying for forgiveness. Only the Pope is supposed to set foot on that." Brett raised an eyebrow. "God, don't you remember Art History II? It's a terrible sin to set foot on it when you're not the Pope."

Robin crossed herself and rose, stepping lighting into the baldacchino. The others followed, moving silently, cautiously into the baldacchino, standing before the altar. Robin knelt before the massive, stone piece, whispering another prayer for the sins she committed by daring to trespass into the sacred space, and below. Then, the Craft user reached at the altar, seemingly poking at nothing. Nycole furrowed her eyebrows, but the altar began to move, sinking away and revealing a staircase.

"Well, thank you, Nancy Drew," the empath sarcastically joked.

Robin turned. "Who's Nancy Drew?"

"Nothing."

Robin shrugged and gestured to the staircase. "We go down from here."

Slowly, hesitantly, they started down the staircase, down, into the dark; Brett lit a flame in his hand and jumped at a decaying corpse behind clear lexan. "What the hell is that?"

"It's true," Nycole breathed. "St. Peter."

Robin nodded rather nonchalantly. "It's always been true. We need to keep moving."

Kristo drew his katana and tonto, while the others took up their remaining pistols.

"Be ready… for anything."

xxxx

Alone. Tired. Cold. Alone.

They had taken her from him, taken Kathain. Who knew where to? Amon didn't. He barely knew where he was at that rate. He barely knew who she was anymore in the grand scheme of things. He couldn't tell just how badly Kathain had turned sides, in order to spare his life.

"Kathain…."

She left him; the precognitive abandoned him.

No. Kathain had no other choice. She had to do it. Her heart would not allow the girl to sit back and watch as Solomon inflicted more and more torture upon the man.

A white flame burned in his mind.

And, slowly, the flame escaped, trailing down the tile floor.

Amon felt a grin spread across his face.

This would be done soon.

xxxx

Mmm…. Getting closer.


	12. Bloodied Hands

**TATTOO YOUR SOUL**

They ran, slipping this and way and that through the long, lonely corridors of Solomon's hidden laboratories, down the while, empty halls and through the building. Robin led the way, as if the witch knew exactly where she was going. Kristo's fingers curled around the tsukamaki of his katana, fingering the menuki of twin, flying cranes, as if asking for protection from the birds as he ran just behind the Craft user.

Nycole followed in fear, but stumbled.

Brett whirled around, grabbing her by the wrist sharply, as he had done so very often before when she looked faint. "Nycole, be careful."

The girl almost fell to the ground, staggering into the wall, throwing out an arm to support herself. She blinked, feeling the tremendous energy swell around them, rising, building with a horrific tidal wave. This was pure grief and anguish, suffering of the most perfect and exquisitely horrible kind. Nycole had to struggle to recover from the wave once it hit her and past, radiating out from somewhere deep within that secret place beneath the Vatican.

"Amon…"

Sakaki was at her side in a heartbeat, finding his Orbo necklace and placing it around her neck, securing it tightly behind her head. For a moment, the green liquid glowed brightly, bubbling out before subsiding and stilling. Sakaki let out a sigh of relief, smoothing the empath's hair back.

"What was it?" Robin breathed.

Nycole closed her eyes. "You don't want to know."

"Stop there!"

A strange voice.

They'd been paying so much attention to Nycole that they hadn't noticed a routine security patrol come down the corridor, drawing pistols full of Orbo and witch-killing bullets. The witches turned, flaring out with everything they had. Flames streaked through the air from Brett. A wave of energy rode behind them, fueled by Geoff. Even Sakaki instinctively reacted, pouring out his energy, no longer checked by the Orbo necklace. Kristo just watched as they knocked the guards back and into a wall soundly. The patrol sank to the ground,

Kristo sniffed. "Haven't you people heard about subtly?"

"It doesn't matter," Brett pointed out. "They already know we're here."

xxxx

An alarm went off.

Amon ignored it from where he lay, collapsed on the floor, still allowing the energy to seep from him, pouring out and into the world around him.

He didn't even move when water cascaded down in sheets from the fire sprinklers.

"Kathain…"

xxxx

The lights flashed out.

The witches jumped, terrified as they were plunged into darkness. Only Kristo didn't flinch, welcoming the dark and the well of his powers as the abyss yawned and billowed out around him. Brett let energy sheer from his mind, burning a thin trail of flames up his right arm, illuminating the hall with a pale, orange light.

"Stay focused," Brett instructed.

Kristo gripped the hilt of his katana lightly, loosening his grip and readying for battle. He only spun around to see as red lights faded into existence, lighting the hall. Obviously emergency lighting was coming on for some odd reason.

"I'd say they know we're here," Geoff tried to make light of the situation.

Nycole sighed. "This can't get any worse."

Even as she uttered the words, emergency sprinklers kicked to life, and water rained down upon them in heavy, harsh droplets. The sensors must have gone off from Brett's flames, which smoldered and died. A puff of smoke rose from Brett's arm as the water killed his fire. The elemental frowned. In air that saturated, his skills were utterly useless, as were Robin's.

Brett swore, loudly.

Even Nycole was out of commission, or, at least, she was so long as she continued to bear the Orbo necklace.

"We're are SO boned," Geoff shook his head.

"No we're not," Kristo snarled. " We keep moving. We find Kathain. We find Amon, and we get the fucking hell out of here."

Raven nodded, warming up the runes within him. "Right."

xxxx

There was music.

Such pretty music.

It seemed to waft and float over him, dance around him. It sounded so pleasant, so comforting and delightful. So perfect.

There were voices over him, shouting harshly, barking orders.

The rain didn't fall upon him. Amon found it weird. He could feel the water pooling around him, but it didn't plop upon his skin. It was as if there was a hole in the rain its self. The former hunter didn't know what to make of it.

But, then again, he didn't know what to make of anything at that point.

"What the hell is he?"

Amon could have died laughing at that question.

"It doesn't matter. Shoot him."

Loud sounds banged around him, pounding and slamming in Amon's ears. It was giving him a headache. A bad one. A migraine was coming on, looming like a dark storm cloud.

Amon murmured the order. "Stop."

And they did.

xxxx

An explosion rocked the complex beneath the Vatican.

Robin almost fell but landed against Kristo's back. The shadow walker grew dark and distant, amassing the depths of the black around him in a heavy, rich pocket around him. The witches hurled themselves against a wall, preparing for a sea of guards to come rushing towards them, heavily armed and ready for battle.

"What the hell was that?" Bear shouted.

Brett shook his head. "Don't know. Doesn't matter."

Kristo ignored it. "Let's just use it to our advantage."

xxxx

Something hurt.

It burnt and sang agony in his… what was the word for it? Arm… no, it didn't feel like that body part. Back? No, not quite either. Things weren't clear anymore, not even physical sensation.

"Damn it."

Amon gritted his teeth, trying to rise.

Instead, a sea of liquid flame rolled from him. Energy? No. Fire… maybe. The former hunter couldn't tell anymore. His mind seemed to slip and fall away, leaving him and becoming a less cohesive and coherent part of the universe. Amon was loosing himself, and his own mind.

"Stop it, stop it, stop it."

xxxx

"Amon!"

Nycole cried out the word, tripping again and falling into Sakaki. Her head hurt and swam, despite the Orbo tied around her neck. It no longer stemmed the flow of rage and sorrow pouring from deep within the facility. The Orbo had finally become useless against whoever was down in the darkness.

Meaning only one thing.

"We have to find Amon," Nycole breathed.

Sakaki nodded, pulling her arm over his neck and shouldering her weight. They ran on, down into the dark of the Solomon facility. Down, and down they ran. Surprisingly, no guards came down the halls they chose. Apparently, there was something bigger, something worse happening in that wet and raining maze.

Suddenly, a swarm of guards rushed past, ignoring the witches.

Robin gasped.

There was a door open, swinging back and forth at the end of the hall. It banged loudly and harshly with every swing. White flame trailed out of the door and into the hall, despite the water falling from the sprinklers.

"This is… Craft…" Robin whispered.

Geoff studied it for a moment. "Spirit fire."

They ran down the hall, water splashing with every step.

Nycole and Robin reached the door first, with shrill screams. "Amon!"

Kristo held up his katana fiercely as they rushed up to join the girls, freezing in place at the entryway. There, in the middle of a pool of his own blood, lay Amon. Water fell around him, sending shivers through Amon's weak body. He, in his own right, was bloodied and beaten, battered and broken. Amon was a terrible, sad sight to behold, and, yet, Robin could not bring herself to approach him.

"Amon…." The teenager whispered.

Nycole rushed to his side, throwing the Orbo necklace from off her neck. It skittered across the floor as the empath made her way to Amon, sliding on the tile floor and crouching at his side. She touched his shoulder tenderly, drawing the pain and suffering off of his body and into her, halving the torment. Nycole almost fell over, but gritted her teeth and fought against it.

"Amon, are you there?" Nycole asked softly.

His eyes cracked open. "Hurts…"

The empath nodded slowly. "I know it does."

Amon seemed so lost and confused. "My…"

Nycole supplied the word. "Wings."

xxxx

Enjoy.


	13. Winterborn

**TATTOO YOUR SOUL**

Nycole regretted her actions as soon as she saw what Amon had done. She had gone into him that night back at Kristo's house. The empath had done this to him, unlocked the dark gifts hidden away within the hunter. All this time, Amon had denied what he truly was, hated the blood that ran through his own veins, and Nycole had made him into a witch. No, that wasn't fair. The empath hadn't made Amon a witch; Nycole only sped the process up.

And, so, Nycole took up his pain, trying to share as much of it as she could. Amon couldn't fight her; he just lay there as the girl drew his pain from off of him.

She glanced around, at the white flames expanding outward from Amon with every breath and dwindling with each inhalation. They seemed such a rare, potent, white energy, dancing and swaying like the last bits of a dying conflagration. That fire came from his heart, from his soul and the very root of his Craft. He was like a fire starter, similar to Robin. But this flame was not like fire. No, it was spirit. The purest and most dangerous of the elements. It superseded the physical elements and, yet, was governed by them somehow, like checks and balances. Geoff dealt mainly with spirit energy, but not enough to help. Nycole reached out, into Amon's mind.

"Amon, I'm sorry."

He didn't answer.

"Amon…." The empath glanced around, feeling the all too familiar sensation of the precognitive and her unique sorrow, born of her foresight but not actually seeing the girl. "Where's Kathain?"

The flames flickered brighter, as if fueled by Amon's own anger at the thought.

"She's gone, isn't she?" Brett inquired softly from the doorframe, keeping an eye out.

The fire turned, swirling out in strange bands and curling into intricate patterns. The flames grew, stretching and elongating until they almost smothered both Nycole and Amon whole. The licks swirled into a spiraling, tight, almost Celtic-knot pattern, wrapping around the fallen man and the telepath.

Nycole's consciousness graced his mind finding him beneath all the pain. "Amon…"

The spirit fire answered for him. Under the empath's soothing administration of her mind, the fire died, circling and drifting back towards the source. The pattern unknotted, loosening and slipping away. The spirit fire dimmed momentarily before subsiding entirely, returning to the confines of Amon's mind.

The girl looked up, over the terrible wounds on his body, to Amon's back. He was one of the Thirteen; he had to be. From Amon's shoulder blades, jutted two, ebony wings, curving over his lanky form. The feathers glistened slickly, like raven's. They seemed oddly fitting for Amon, considering his dark and brooding nature. With every shallow breath, those slick feathers puffed and expanded, as if inhaling air with his lungs. The wings curled over Amon, protecting him from the falling water of the sprinkler system.

Angels are very real in this world. They always have been. They just aren't what most people think of them. Anyone can be an angel. Neighbors. Friends. Families. Enemies. Nycole had gotten used to that fact. Actually, because of that, the empath almost refused to use the "a-word" to describe the winged kind.

Nycole's eyes shifted to the puncture holes marring the perfect image of those ebony wings. Little holes, no larger than a nickel, littered the expanse of dark feathers, oozing trails of blood. The feathers, like those of any bird, guided the water down, sheeting it off the wings and onto the white, tile floor. At the rounded edges of the feathers, the scarlet dripped and trickled off of his wings. He had used them to protect himself, instinctively, and Solomon's soldiers took it upon themselves to fire upon Amon, as if he were a freak of nature. It was the saddest of sights, something so perfect and beautiful so utterly ruined. Amon looked less like the witch hunter he was and more like a fallen angel, lost from the grace of heaven.

Robin just gaped. Somehow, the others didn't seem too terribly startled by the black wings coming from Amon's body. But this was almost too much to take. The teenager had been a good, faithful Catholic, since the moment of her birth. However, angels only existed in the Bible and in Heaven, not in the real world. And Amon? How could he be one? They were servants and messengers of God, not former witch hunters. Amon was most certainly not a messenger for God. Robin bit down on her knuckle nervously.

"Amon, I need you to do me a favor?" Nycole paused, but Amon did not answer. "I need you to get lose the wings. It's going to make getting out of here a bit difficult."

Robin just bit her lip unsurely as she watched. _'Amon.'_

It took a moment, as Amon seemed to focus but could not find the energy, nor the knowledge required to "lose" as Nycole put it, his wings.

"Amon, concentrate." Robin couldn't believe the words coming from the lips of the empath, but Nycole just went on. "I know it's difficult, just let me guide you."

Nycole reached into him, searching for that little boy she had seen so long ago with the sad, terrified eyes and the dark hair. He was right were she left him, hiding in the closet, but the door behind him was open. This time, however, the boy wiped away his tears and actually smiled at her. He looked hopeful. Nycole took his hand.

'_I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen.'_

The empath led him out, and into the light of day.

It took a moment of awkward silence, but the sheer matter Amon's wings were made of seemed to shimmer and glimmer for a moment. Nycole smiled approvingly as the wings trembled, as the energy wavered and quivered. Then, the wings just faded away, as if they'd never been there to begin with. Robin had never seen such a thing.

The Craft user wished she never had and never would see such a thing again. No, angels were a sight not meant for most men. Angels were a divine thing, and the sight of such was a gift from God. The girl crossed herself hesitantly.

"What… where those?" Robin breathed, shaking in fear.

Geoff looked to her with sure eyes. "Have you any faith?" The teenager didn't answer at first, stumbling over the words as she struggled to form them. "Have you faith, Robin?"

"Ye-yes." The words trickled from her mouth.

Geoff nodded. "Good. Get rid of it."

Brett and Geoff moved to Amon's side, helping the injured and tortured man up. Nycole took a moment to scour the puddled floor for the Orbo necklace, only to place it around Amon's neck, to control his unstable Craft. Her hands slipped over his back, sensing for wounds and finding the broken and shattered ribs, even as Brett and Geoff dragged Amon up to his feet.

The teenager didn't know what to think or do anymore. The sight Amon so tortured had brought her to the point of a pure anger, rage such as she had never felt before. Robin yearned to both hold Amon and avenge him. And, yet, the Craft user couldn't quite bring herself to, not after seeing those wings. She wasn't entirely sure who or _what _Amon was anymore. Suddenly, Robin found herself longing for days long past when she tragically found herself to be the man's prey in a Solomon ordered witch hunt.

"Amon…" Robin tried to step towards him.

Nycole waved a hand over the fallen man's head, a few inches over his skin. "Don't bother." The empath sounded so distant and far away. "He can't hear you."

Robin had been hoping for some semblance of hope, some promise that the man would live. But there was no comfort nor kindness in that dark place deep beneath St. Peter's. No, in truth, Robin would find no solace in any of the others, either. Not then. For, even as she looked around, Kristo and Bear were already peering out into the hall, listening keening at the sound of approaching footsteps, splashing through the corridor.

"Solomon," Kristo hissed, his fingers brushing the bindings on his katana.

They waited in silence, everyone holding their breath. The footsteps drew near. Deathly close. Kristo whirled out, into the hall, amassing the bleak dark of the hall and the inky black of the shadows around him. His katana slashed out, seemingly wildly, cutting the air itself. The shadow walker slipped into the abyss on the other side of the hall, as a row of soldiers fell. The remainder stopped and stepped back, their eyes having only caught the gleam of metal shining under the red lights and not the man wielding the blade.

Witch killing shots were fired out madly into the shadows, but Kristo was gone, lost into the abyss and hidden away from this world.

He grinned a toothy grin.

His shoulder throbbed from the action. It had yet to fully heal from the gunshot wound, but Kristo ignored the dull ache, concentrating on the matter at hand. However, judging by the warmth that suddenly spread over the wound, Nycole would most likely have to stitch and bandage it again, and Kristo at least had to acknowledge that. In truth, he almost savored the added challenge the injury tacked onto the battle.

In the cell, Geoff stepped out from under the weight of Amon, knowing Brett could take it up. He straightened, cracked his neck out with sickening pops. He stood, gathering his own energy around him, pooling it and congealing it around himself. His eyes flashed open, unleashing hell as he let the wave of pure energy free. It radiated outward from him swiftly, knocking the guards down.

Bear leaned out, into the hall, for just a moment. With a quick, practiced motion, Bear reached out with his telekinesis, swatting their guns aside.

The guards dove behind a corner, hiding.

Brett grunted as he half-carried, half-dragged Amon's limp body closer to the door. The former hunter was so heavy, not an ounce of superfluous flesh on him. While that normally gave a good advantage, to be on the same side as a lean and built fighter, Brett suddenly loathed it. He cursed the extra burden muscle mass added when dead weight.

"If we're going to do something, we had been do it fast." The fire elemental gave a nod to the corridor, in the direction the guards had chosen to hide. "They're not going to give us much of an opportunity, y'know?"

Kristo stepped out of the shadows, his shoulder slick with blood. "Agreed."

Witch-killing bullets screamed through the air once again, as another volley was sent from the guards. They grew daring and cocky, trying to take down any of the intruders or just keep them cornered in the dank, wet cell. Raven shot out a returning burst of energy. Small, glowing glyphs, the strange mark of a sort of 'I' spun on the wind. Isa. The Rune of Ice struck the bullets. The slugs slowed before coming to a stop, midair, frozen both in time and in tiny bits of crystalline ice. The small chunks fell, shattering when they hit the floor, smashing the metal its self as if the bullets had been coated with liquid nitrogen.

Raven grinned. "Piece of cake." A stray bullet smashed into the doorframe beside him, sending a burst of concrete; the runemal plunged back, into the room, a look of chagrin forming on his face. "Week old cake left on the counter of Hell's kitchen."

Robin blinked. With all the Orbo lying around that facility, it seemed impossible that any witch, without the use of the Arcanum, could even muster a tiny bit of Craft. And, yet, they were so strong, so powerful. They acted with such force and ferocity. It seemed so utterly impossible. Robin couldn't believe her eyes. These people, they weren't witches. They just couldn't be.

"What are you?" the teenager whispered, tiptoeing back, deeper into the cell and away from them, suddenly terrified of the witches she had grown to consider friends and allies.

Geoff took a small pistol from under his coat. "You don't want to know, Robin."

"But…." The color melted away from her.

"Trust me on this one. You don't want to know."

xxxx

Alas, very short but worth it, in my humble opinion. So,.. anyone out there in the Pit of Voles have any idea what the Thirteen are, yet? And… no… they're not really what you think they are, I promise, but I'm willing to entertain guesses.


	14. Seasons

**TATTOO YOUR SOUL**

"_Where am I?"_

_Amon asked the question of no one. He was lost, lost to the universe and to all existence. The world looked and felt so different, so far away. The man was being carried, lifted up by someone, dragged. They were shouting and yelling harshly, arguing over the man._

_He spoke the words, but they just didn't seem to come out. "Where are you taking me?"_

_The hunter wasn't even sure who it was. He only recalled a familiar sense, a presence that reminded Amon of someone. Who? The name just wouldn't come to him, as if stuck somewhere in his mind. It started with an N…. or maybe an M…. Amon couldn't quite remember exactly who. But it felt warm and comforting, almost relaxing. _

_The world of the Solomon facility blurred and bled away. _

_Amon fell to the deep, yawning chasm that was bleak and vast void, scouring the nothingness for something, if that was at all possible. Yet, it was empty and lonely, barren and devoid of all life and consciousness. Amon could almost hear the whistle of a random wind traipsing about, haunting that lost land. _

"_Is there anyone there?" Amon spun around, searching for someone who he didn't think exactly existed in that forgotten realm._

_A voice returned his greeting. "Always here."_

_He turned, blinking in surprise. _

"_Kathain….?"_

xxxx

Silence.

Robin froze. Silence during any attack from Solomon meant only bad things were on the way. Something wicked always came after a period of silence, like a harsh storm bearing down upon them. She reached out suddenly, grabbed at Raven's shirt and hauling him back in a simple, swift motion, throwing her own weight back to pull the runemal away from the door and out of the line of fire.

"Get down!" She shouted.

Robin threw her own body at the floor, landing in an impossibly deep puddle of water from the sprinkles and a pool of Amon's blood. Copper splattered across her face and pursed lips as something metallic clinked and splashed in the hallway.

The world stopped.

Something rolled in the corridor. Kristo shoved Bear back and withdrew, slipping into the shadows and the abyss as a metal cylinder, more like a canister of sorts slowly, languidly rolled up to the door. It stopped, seemingly conveniently right there in front of them. Nycole felt hope rise within as the canister looked like it was not the bomb she expected it to be, but, still, it went off, spewing dense, white gas.

"Fuck!" Bear, the telekinetic swore, slapping this can away with his mind, striking it back towards the guards gathered at the end of the hall.

The action garnered screams of surprise, shock and horror from the guards as they were driven further back and away from the holding cell. Still, the damage had been done. The gas hung over the air, drifting and swishing about. It stung at the eyes of the witches and burnt at their lungs harshly. Nycole and Brett coughed, feeling the searing rape of their lungs coupling with their asthma. Brett almost doubled over but fought the urge to just collapse as he shouldered Amon's weight.

"We need to get out, now," the fire elemental snarled.

Nycole nodded. "I second the motion."

Kristo gathered up the shadows, spilling them over the group.

And, then, they were gone.

xxxx

"_Kathain?"_

_She seemed so fair and fresh. The girl even glowed, literally, along with her white robes. However, now, her hair hung straight and a pale, almost silvery white. Her eyes shone a crisp, cerulean blue, stranding out strikingly against all that pale color. The girl was so familiar despite those unusual differences. And, yet, there seemed a strangely sweet sophistication to her, a cunning and a predatory grace to her. There seemed an ancient hungering and longing to her. _

_She was older, too. _

_The girl shook her head. "No, not really."_

_Amon's eyes went wide. Her voice had changed, too. No longer did it hold that odd, mildly Yankee-American accent, but it a sweet sort of English lilt, perhaps with a dram of Irish thrown in. _

"_I don't understand."_

_The stranger reached out towards him, with a grand, odd gesture, sweeping both of her hands past each side of his face. "That's because you aren't meant to, yet."_

xxxx

"STOP!"

Brett screamed the word from within the abyss of Kristo's Craft. The shadow walker's concentration severed, and they were sent spilling and tumbling from the shadows and darkness. The fire elemental almost dropped Amon's form on Robin when they slipped back into the real world, somewhere else in the massive maze of corridors, hallways, and rooms beneath the Vatican. The room seemed to be some sort of abandoned office, with a long desk and many chairs, ready for a business meeting at any time.

Raven shook off the lingering disorientation and haze from the shadow walk. "Why'd we stop? We should be halfway to Venice by now."

"No." The word was more of an order really.

Nycole looked to Brett unsurely. The fire elemental had become distant and stolid, a rock on which the others could find sure footing. He had grown as fiery as the energy of his own Craft, angry and embittered by everything Solomon had put them through. The hand snaked around Amon's side had been balled into a tight, white-knuckled fist.

Kristo shook his head. "We don't have time for this."

"No."

Geoff stared incredulously at his friend. "Now is SO not the time to be getting all vengeful and wrathful on us."

"No," Brett repeated the word again, as if it held all the secrets to the world and to his own thoughts. "No, we are not leaving here. Not yet." The fire elemental shifted his hold on Amon, careful of the man's injuries. "We are not leaving this place until I know where they took Kathain."

"But, Amon…" Robin sounded so sad and worried, before growing steeled and resolved. "You can't put him through anymore without putting him through worse."

Nycole nodded in the fire elemental's direction. "I'm not leaving, either."

"Good." Brett turned to Raven. "Take him." The other man took up Amon's weight as Brett straightened, cracking out his back and neck as he readied himself. "Kristo, get the others out of here." The shadow walker slipped his wakazashi into Brett's hand, offering him the best weapon he knew the elemental could use. "Get out and get safe. I'll find you once I know where she is."

"I'm coming with you!" Nycole argued.

Brett shook his head. "No."

Robin suddenly piped up, jumping. "I'll go."

Brett stopped, staring at the teenage Craft user with a sort of admiration and respect. Robin held deep conviction and determination in her eyes, a steely gaze that lusted for revenge. The girl wanted to help Brett and help get Kathain back, but something within her also craved death. She savored the thought of avenging the many injustices dealt to Amon in the time Solomon held him captive.

The elemental nodded slowly. "Ok."

"Brett?" Geoff went to argue.

The fire elemental practically snarled at the bartender. "No arguments." Brett closed his blue eyes slowly, calming himself and centering. "She knows the layout of this place better than anyone it seems."

"Be careful," Nycole squeezed Robin's hand.

Kristo rolled his eyes and placed his tonto within the teenager's unsteady hands. "Don't cut yourself."

"I won't…"

Brett twirled the wakazashi elegantly in his grasp. "Now, get out of here."

He stepped back with Robin, watching as Kristo drew up the dark. It took more effort, more focus this time, as the clear pain in the shadow walker's shoulder spread. The shadows seemed to be heavier to the warrior's usually clear and sure focus. Brett was almost thankful that he hadn't gone with the others. Nycole waved before Kristo pulled them back and into the abyss, drawing the cloak of night over them. In a heartbeat, they faded away, into nothingness.

The elemental turned to Robin. "Now, where would we find some files?"

xxxx

_The pseudo-Kathain wrapped her arms around Amon sweetly. Dare he say affectionately?_

"_Kathain?"_

_She giggled and sprang away from him, moving on the balls of her feet and her toes like some sort of a fairy. "I told you, I'm not her."_

"_Then who in the hell are you?" he demanded._

_The illusory creature spun on her foot, her arms outstretched and reaching for the very stars and winds about that vast realm of emptiness. The sprite danced and swirled about, her robes flowing. It caught on the air and wind, rippling and wavering with the loose bits and ribbons. _

"_Answer me."_

_The girl stepped up to him lightly, tapping him on the nose cutely. "I am a mental representation of a metaphysical abstraction, incomprehensible by mortal man's thought processes and imagination."_

"_And what exactly does that mean?" _

_She shrugged. "It means you have a sick and twisted mind, Amon, my dear."_

_He gave a laugh, more of a sniff, really. "So, are you supposed to be a spirit guide to whisk me away to the afterlife?"_

"_Nope." The Not-Kathain laughed again. "Guess again."_

_Amon sighed. "Then what is all this about, anyway?"_

"_This is about you and who you are." She put her hand over Amon's heart for but a moment. "And, in time, you will understand who and what you are." The pseudo-Kathain traced an odd sort of shape, a symbol it seemed over his heart, but it could have been just a passing whim. "For you are one of the Thirteen. Know your fate and know your fate."_

"_Kathain?" he breathed, forgetting who this stranger had said she was. _

_The girl snickered again. "Don't try to make any sense of this now. Just accept it and go on with your life."_

"_No… I need more information," Amon pled. _

"_You have the information you need."_

xxxx

Mmm…. Thirteen weirdness abounds.


	15. Bitter Excuses

TATTOO YOUR SOUL 

They ran. They flew down the halls together, two black ravens. Hugin and Mugin. No longer burdened by the dead weight of the fallen Amon.

Brett and Robin could move freely once again, swiftly. Robin left, her steps light and fox-like, as Brett followed behind, a stalking wolf, practically snarling and baring his teeth at what Solomon had done to Kathain, to all of them. The corridors were long and twisting, a grand labyrinth in the dark and shadow, yet the younger fire starter seemed to know exactly where to run. Brett just kept pace, running a few inches off her heels.

The tonto felt sickening in Robin's hand, sending tingles up and down the girl's arm. She couldn't do it. She couldn't kill someone, especially not in such a brutal manner. Even if attacked, Robin couldn't guarantee she could actually go through with it. The only time the Craft user ever killed a person directly, had to watch it happen, the murder had been an accident, spurned by the sudden, uncontrolled, tremendous power of the Arcanum within the teenage witch. This weapon, this would spill blood directly upon her. The scarlet would stain her own, pale skin, and Robin would have to be up close to see the face of her victim if it happened. She knew the face would haunt her forever.

Fortunately, when they first came across a guard, she didn't have to.

Brett pushed her aside and rushed the guard, growling fiercely as he leapt. Robin gasped, watching the fire elemental unleash all of the fury of hell upon the man, stabbing the soldier again and again, splashing blood all over the place. Under the red lights, it looked black as ink. When the soldier stopped twitching and moving, the fire elemental stood over him, squeezing the hilt of the wakazashi in a death-grip, wet with sweat and blood. He breathed heavy, staring down at the corpse before him, the man he had murdered.

The only people Robin had ever seen do such terrible things were the witches she had hunted. Robin had never witnessed a murder. Not ever. She gripping the tonto tighter, worried that, in his rage, Brett would turn on her, unleash the beast within. Robin readied her flame, her inner fire, just in case, feeling the tongues of fire lashed up behind her emerald eyes.

"Brett?"

The fire elemental turned slowly, revealing his own, grotesquely blood splattered face. Tiny flames flickered behind Brett's suddenly yellow eyes. There seemed a delirious, devilish glee to him.

Brett cocked his head to one side. "Yes?"

A guard rushed behind him. Robin's eyes went wide. She couldn't say anything or form the words, but the girl didn't have to. Brett knew. He had heard to soft sounds of the soldier behind him. He whirled around, steel gleaming under the disgusting, red light.

Brett inhaled, killed, exhaled.

"More are coming." He sounded excited, as if savoring the very taste of the words upon his lips, his eyes shifting again from yellow to deep, rich red. A growled rumbled down in his throat behind every syllable. "Now…"

Even as the fire elemental turned, with a flourish, they came. It was a group closing in on them. Brett immediately lunged forward, into them, a whirling dervish, his coat billowing up and flowing around him. With his right hand, Brett struck out with the wakazashi. With his left hand, the fire elemental drew up his ancient fire, sending it out and into the world around him, to the soldiers who dared attack.

Robin had no other choice. Her eyes narrowed as the Craft user sparked her own flame, lashing out. However, as Brett moved to spill blood and kill, Robin used the power of the Arcanum to knock the guards back and away from her.

She glanced up to her partner, just in time to see him surrounded. "BRETT!"

His eyes went wide. There were too many guards, too many for him to take on all at once. Robin threw her fire out upon them, burning at their uniforms and armor, at the very Orbo upon their chest. The vials of green liquid burst, exploding out with glowing splashes and bubbling ooze. Robin ignored the spilling Orbo upon the floor, concentrating only on the man she ran towards as the soldiers fell, like parting the sea.

Brett seemed to slip and fall, stepping back and away as one of the guards brought a pistol up, aiming to his head. Robin, however, didn't stop. She kept right on moving, past Brett, her hands shooting out towards the soldier who threatened her friend. The pistol's aim turned upon Robin. The soldier's mouth fell open in a silent scream as he froze.

There was silence except for the heavy breathing of the three.

"Oh, God…"

Something warm, terribly hot and thick, spilt upon her hands, trailing over Robin's skin, but she didn't have the heart to look down. Brett reached out to her, his hands curling over hers,

"No…" Robin's voice was faint and frail, shaking as much as her body.

Brett took hold of the tonto. "It's alright, Robin."

The fire elemental jerked the blade back in a quick motion, ripping the blade from the flesh Robin had buried it in. Another spurt of blood came out with it, falling on the girl's pale skin, turning her stomach. The soldier fell to the floor, but neither seemed to care or notice. Robin remained locked in shock, while Brett just didn't seem phased by the death at all. The tonto dripped upon the floor. Brett just took the blade and wiped away the blood before handing it back to Robin's unsure hands.

"I… I just killed a man," the girl whispered.

Brett nodded. "Yes. And more will have to die in time."

"I… I've committed a mortal sin." Robin grieved for the soldier she'd just killed. "I've killed him… I've killed him…"

Brett grabbed her wrist sharply. "Listen to me." He pointed down at the man Robin had sent to an early grave. "That man. He would have killed me and you if you didn't kill him first." Robin shook her head, but Brett just laughed. "Robin, he made the choice to be with Solomon, knowing that all witches would be after him. He made the decision, not you, not me, not anyone."

"I feel sorry…" Robin started, but the young man cut her off abruptly.

Brett flared with anger and annoyance. "Don't you feel sorry for him, don't you dare." Robin gave a nod of her head, strengthening her own fortitude. "Good."

"We need to keep moving. We're not far, now," the girl just stated flatly.

"Alright."

xxxx

"They should be back by now."

Raven paced uneasily, just outside the border of the Vatican. He felt caged, despite how free they were, sitting out there in the dark of the night. The runemal didn't like this, didn't like waiting for Brett and Robin, not knowing what was happening, what was going on.

Raven sighed. "We should go get them."

"No," Kristo spoke from his place, seated in the shadows along a building corner. "They haven't tried to contact us. We stay where we are until we get the signal from Nycole."

The empathy knelt over Amon, her hand over his heart, reaching into his mind and soul, trying to south him. But, at this point, for all her attempts, Nycole couldn't find him. Amon had retreated deep within himself, deep into the darkest corners of his mind. It was a reflex reaction. Most people after such abuse, witch or not, did that. That simple action of retreat and burrowing in, digging into one's own mind was almost expected by the empathy, anticipated.

"Amon…."

"_Where are you, Kathain?"_

Nycole could hear him, within his own mind, talking to someone. The telepath smiled, holding him, trying to comfort Amon.

"_She'll be alright, Amon. You rest."_

"_Kathain…."_

But, the telepathy couldn't even convince herself that was true.

xxxx

Robin strode now, defiant and tall.

Brett watched curiously, following behind her as the Craft user let loose everything within her. Blue flames poured from off of Robin as she walked. These flames burnt a cold fire, like ice, licking at Brett but not burning him. No, they seemed reserved for the structure itself, eating away at the walls and the corridors beneath St. Peters. The fire elemental wondered how much of a sin it was to burn the seat of the Roman Catholic Church and the body of St. Peter himself.

She threw out an arm at a door, sending the metal thing exploding inward from the frame, slamming back and away with her Craft. This was a woman transformed. She hated herself, deeply, darkly. These people, Solomon, had done horrific things to Amon and, now, as icing on the cake, they turned her, Robin, into a murdered.

Enraged, Robin screamed out, burning down another bulkhead.

"Keep control, Robin" the fire elemental ordered under his breath, muttering the words.

Still, the man couldn't argue with results. Somehow, in all the twists and turns Robin took him down, she led him straight to the records. They were in a large, grand room, a third of the room filled with rows of computers and desks. The other two thirds of the record hall had been occupied by hundreds of filing cabinets and shelves of books. It, however, was not unoccupied. A few desk clerks, still there into the wee hours of the morning, jumped, screaming.

Brett drew the wakazashi fiercely, grabbing one of the desk jockeys, placing the tip of the blade at the stranger's throat. "Personnel sent me."

Robin glared harshly; if looks could kill, the girl would have been a serial killer.

The strangers babbled in Italian, the words blurring together in a string of confusing, unusual syllables. Brett just sighed audibly, already tired of the language and the fact that he didn't speak it.

"Doesn't anyone speak English in this fucking city?"

Robin strolled casually past a desk, trailing her fingers along the edge and igniting a path of blue fire on the end of the furniture, obviously threatening them. She spoke in Italian, the words flowing like a gurgling, bubbling stream. Lovely, liquid syllables fell from her lips, like music. One of the office clerks piped up, answering in the same language. Robin nodded slowly as the shaking man gave his replies. She interrogated him for a moment in half Italian, half Latin, annoying Brett.

It took a moment, but Robin smiled in the elemental's direction. "He says what we're looking for is on the network database."

Brett nodded, pulling the rolling chair of his new hostage towards a computer console. "Tell him to get on it."

xxxx

They left together, fighting side by side.

Robin never felt anything so pure, so real in her entire life. Nothing had ever felt so true and right. There was no anger, no sorrow, no emotion to any of the men she fell and those there was the chance Robin slew. The Craft user had transformed, emerging a warrior from the ashes of her life as a witch. Her heart beat in time with every smooth, slickly elegant swing of the tonto in her right hand and the flames of her soul. Her actions followed Brett as he fought with the longer wakazashi. Blood fell upon the walls and floor, shed by the victims, but Robin felt absolutely nothing about it. Brett glanced to the Craft user at one point; Robin merely smiled. There was no pride, no happiness at these acts. Her smile came only at the thought of how very close they were.

They continued down the halls and corridors, moving this way and that, knocking out and killing the soldiers who got in their way. Both witches left paths of flames running down each and every hall. He blue fire of Robin's Arcanum and the white of Brett intermingled, twining together and twisting into long loops of liquid fire.

This was pure Craft, at its very finest. Their actions, their energy, it was fed only by their souls and minds, not their emotions and anger. No, it held no emotion, no signature of feeling. Both fires were perfectly in control, despite their size. They moved and swayed under the command of both witches. Each breath grew the flames taller, hotter. Ages of wisdom, passed down through the blood of the witches, through each and every bloodline, fueled the fire.

And, soon, they were backing up the stairs, and into the night.

They had what they needed. St. Peters was of no consequence anymore. Robin watched it burn, as the flames shot up, reaching for the heavens, like Lucifer reaching for the grace and glory of God to be returning. The Vatican crumbled, taking with it hundreds of years of artwork and majesty.

Somehow, Robin didn't feel too bad about that anymore.

xxxx

Ok, so I lied. I got a chapter out. I couldn't resist.


	16. Epilogue

TATTOO YOUR SOUL Epilogue 

The Vatican smoldered and smoked that day in the morning, spewing a cloud of white into the clear, sunny day. Or, at least, every television in the office it did. The office itself remained dark and dim, with the shades tightly drawn, sealing out the daylight, save that artificial sunlight from the monitors and screens, displaying the wreckage and rubble of what was once the most glorious cathedral on Earth.

It was a sin, a horrible sin.

Eyes across the planet had watched since dawn as St. Peters burned out of control, taking with it hundreds of years of sculpture, art, and history. Art buffs and historians alike cried for the loss as firefighters struggled to control the blaze and save what remained of the center of the Roman Catholic Church. Catholics cried out at the senseless, needless destruction. A collective gasp could almost be heard all across the Western world when it was announced that, indeed, the flames had reached the Sistine Chapel and Michelangelo's famous frescos. In time, even the strength of the Renaissance architecture could not hold the weight of the compromised cathedral, and it came crashing down.

Kathain couldn't watch. Instead, self consciously, she stared down at her feet and wringing her hands behind her back. The precognitive had known the very moment she made her decision in that dark cell to give up her fight that this would happen. Even as Kathain watched Amon's fate change, she saw the series of events that would lead up to the eventual destruction of the Vatican. And the girl knew exactly who had caused it.

Somewhere within, a sense of pride built. The girl had seen those dark wings of Amon, seen them unfold and unfurl for the first time in ages, perhaps the first time in the man's entire life. But, by Kathain's eyes, they were glorious, long and expansive, perfect and graceful. The girl had seen his awakening, Amon's transition from human/hunter to witch, to Craft user. She saw his spirit Craft becoming one, fusing with every fiber of Amon's body and soul. And the girl saw Robin's strength, her courage finally taking hold. Robin was a strong young woman, but her fear of what the secrets the witches held kept the teenager from acting without hesitation. Kathain swelled with pride of all of the witches, all of her family and their great accomplishments.

"You seem happy."

Kathain sighed, squeezing her hands tighter. "In a way."

"Thousands of people are dead."

The precognitive gave a nod, long, slow and contemplative. "Yes." She glanced back at the monitors and the firefighters who were continuing their battle to contain the fire and keep it from spreading to the other historic buildings of the Vatican. "But they are, as you would say, a small sacrifice, for a greater good."

"And you're pleased with this?"

The girl shook her head. "Not entirely. On the one hand, I have spared a friend a cruel fate at the hands of your men. On the other, hundreds of people are dead at their hands, and years of amazing art and history are gone." She fixed a coy gaze on her interrogator. "I was an artist before I was a fugitive, you know."

"I know."

"This questioning is going nowhere. Lets just cut to the chase and get down to business." Kathain bit her lip and tried to smooth her strap-covered pants nervously, avoiding looking across the mahogany desk at the man. "I was offered a deal."

"Solomon wants information."

The girl snickered, unsuccessfully attempting to contain her laughter. "That's a good one." She pointed at the monitors, at the smoking ruins. "I was under the impression that Solomon was out of the picture."

"Not entirely."

Kathain's face fell. "Oh."

"Tell us about the Thirteen, won't you?" He crooned the word.

The girl shivered at the question. "I can't." He frowned, glaring at her unhappily. "Well, I can't tell you about something I don't entirely know about. Precognition only lets me see things that are to happen, not what HAS happened." She paused for a moment as the man contemplated her thought process. "Look, I can't offer you information I don't have. But, I can offer you my services."

There was awkward silence as a flurry of action on one of the screens caught her eyes. Apparently, some of the older tomes had been salvaged from the flames, ancient relics as well. Firefighters were running out of the twisted, mangled skeleton of a building, carrying the things in strong arms. They held so tightly, so closed to each item, as though it were precious. Kathain recalled some long forgotten episodes of ER where the doctors always seemed to be running in, cradling injured children up against their chests. They were smiling big, wide grins, clutching those books, bibles and artifacts as though they were life-giving, world-saving.

"And what services would those be?" He sounded intrigued, but already knowing.

Kathain loathed selling herself, but she had to say it. "I tell you what is going to happen, look into anything you want me to- except the Thirteen. I cooperate in everything except for that. In return, you and your cronies leave my friends alone."

"And?"

The girl shook her head. "Nothing else."

"We will keep investigating the Thirteen, you understand this?"

Kathain sighed. "I know." She shrugged. "Look, just leave them alone. Amon and Robin included. I'll do whatever you ask me to as long as you do me that favor."

"And so long as we never ask you about the Thirteen?"

"Yes…" the girl chewed on the inside of her lip now, trying to feel something, anything, even if it was the sharp pangs.

The man contemplated this. "You understand that will also be our permanent guest, correct?" The girl closed her eyes, nodding solemnly. "We will, of course, provide suitable housing for you, clothing, food, everything you require. But you will never leave our custody for as long as you are in our service."

"I am completely aware of that," she replied gloomily.

"Deal."

Kathain nodded, reaching a pale hand across the desk to the hand of the scarred man before her, feeling the sickeningly uneven texture to his wrist and the back of his hand. He smiled to himself smugly, as if having won the war by forcing this whelp of a girl into his pocket. Solomon now had a pet precognitive. They could now see whatever in the future they wanted to see, know what events were to transpire and how to properly prepare for them. Kathain played right into their trap.

"What should I call you? Boss? Sir?" the girl sounded sarcastic.

"Just Zaizen."

xxxx

Ok- so Amon's back in the hands of the witches; Kathain's playing the on the other side now. Vatican's gone, but Solomon remains. And you KNOW Robin, Amon, and Brett are going to want some vengeance. And you're just going to have to wait to find out more in the upcoming sequel, **IRISH HEART**.

Until then, ciao!


End file.
